Salt and Bandages
by aliencatt
Summary: On a case involving several disapearences, Sam has something taken from him that he needs Dean to help him get back. WINCEST.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. I'm just a fan.

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**Salt and Bandages **_(April 08)_

Pairing: Sam/Dean

**Warnings**: First time, incest, violence, sexual violence

Authors note.

Set in Season three.

I wrote this before I saw a certain s03 episode, guess sometimes great minds do think alike, or similar at any rate.

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Driving along, or rather being driven, God forbid that he should actually be allowed behind the wheel this morning, Sam slid down on the bench seat of the Impala. Fuming, with arms angrily crossed over his chest, he stared out of the side window, his silence loud in the confines of the car. It had happened again! Another town, another motel and another, 'will that be just the one bed,' query.

He was tiring of Dean's comments which were usually about him and the bastard was still smirking this morning! The only reason he could not hear him laughing now was the cranked up music and for once he could not be bothered to complain about songs that were older than he was.

Just what was it about them? Why was this happening more and more often? The first couple of times they had been mistaken as a 'couple' he had been annoyed and defensive, but then he began to find it funny often playing along but now it was getting ridiculous. And what's more Dean was being no help at all. In fact he was making it worse. Dean was obviously finding the misconception hilarious as it was Sam that was getting most of the focus and assumptions about their relationship.

Hanging around in the latest backwater town had been wearing on Sam's nerves. Thanks to his brother the whole population, admittedly only in the hundreds, had treated them as a couple. And that had not always been so nice. Dean might enjoy the occasional 'friendly' bar fight but last night's had not been one. _Their sort_ was not wanted in here. _And _the whole population had just unknowingly been saved from slowly being drained of its, their life force. Ungrateful bastards!

He turned to the front only to attract Dean's attention and he gave him the bird at the resumed chuckling.

"Awe, come on Sammy. It's turning a lovely shade of purple," Dean could not read his mind but he just knew Sam thought him responsible for the shiner. He could not help himself and continued to find it all highly amusing. Serve his brother right for being so uptight about it all, it was just a bit of fun, _and_ for not ducking the punch in time.

Sam's eye might be black blue and half closed but he still saw that expression on his brother's face and stared pointedly ahead with a few choice words under his breath for good measure.

The idiot had not done Sam any favours or himself for that matter. What had happened to Dean's stated desire to bed as many women as possible in the months he had left? He wasn't going to get any, never mind 'some', pretending to all and sundry that he was Gay. It had been a relief when they'd gotten the call from Bobby which meant they had a reason to leave and were not 'high tailing it' out of town at first light. They'd left before dawn.

As the car ate up the miles and the scenery did little in the way of changing, Sam began to relax slightly but decided to study Dean from out of the corner of his good eye. He could not see anything about his brother's looks or manner that should suggest to anyone on first meeting that he was gay. He had the rough good looks that made him be termed handsome, very proper and manly. His dress sense, and Sam used the term loosely, was pure 'hetro' as far as he could see, not even rubbing shoulders with 'metro'.

So that could only mean Dean was giving off a vibe that Sam could not feel or more likely, he conceded with an internal groan, it was down to himself. So he was more boyish, taller, slimmer seeming, not as 'robust' under his chosen baggy clothes but still, just because he liked to be clean and as well presented as was practical on the road, he did not think he warranted the assumption. And what really stuck in his craw was the way people looked at the pair of them together and he just knew, as they were sized up, that he was relegated to being a 'bottom'. He sighed.

"What?" Dean asked glancing over.

"Nothing," he did not really want to talk as it would only lead to more ribbing or an argument.

"A sigh like that does not mean 'nothing'. Give."

He sighed again knowing Dean would not let up. "Fine! When we get there, if anyone, _anyone,_ says anything about us being a couple, you put them '_straight'._ You understand me?" gesturing emphatically, twisting around to look directly at Dean.

"Awe, Sammy. I thought you'd be flattered. It'd take someone special to get someone like me," grinning at the disgusted look he got in return. "Come on. Lighten up," and he laughed.

"I mean it!"

"Don't get your panties bunched up."

The car swerved narrowly missing the on coming truck as Dean was punched on the arm none too gently. That sobered his mood, the Impala in peril. "Okay. Okay!" sulkily rubbing his arm. "Man!"

Sam turned back to looking out of the windscreen but not seeing anything, slumped down once more. He got so lost in his own thoughts that he had not realised that they had pulled over with the music switched off and the engine idling. He turned to Dean who was sat looking at him, left arm leaning across the steering wheel. "What?" he asked him, shrugging his shoulders in annoyance.

"This is really bothering you isn't it?" Dean asked him, looking concerned.

"Yes!" exasperated at having to state the obvious.

"Why? It's just a bit of fun. You know what you are."

"We are," mumbled as he turned away.

"What was that?"

Turning back, pointing to his blackened eye Sam said angrily, "Does this look like fun to you, Dean? We got…. 'Gay bashed' last night!"

Dean laughed, "They'll think hard before they try that on the next couple," flexing his bruised knuckles.

"_Dean!_" his brother was totally missing the point. Sam turned away, collapsing back to face forwards once more. It was useless trying to get his infuriating brother to understand.

"_What?_ We did the Gay community a service. That's what we do. We help people," smugly pleased with himself.

"You are so damn annoying!"

Dean turned serious, looking at him earnestly, "Sammy?"

Sam also turned back to face his brother and asked half resignedly, half hopeful, "Yes?"

"You really need to get laid bro'" and switched the tape back on, pulling onto the highway smirking before Sam could think of a thing to say, his face a picture of disbelief. ---------------

The rest of the trip had been conducted in near silence with them exchanging little conversation, all of it about the next job. While Dean had eaten something unspeakable to Sam, he had headed to the library to see what he could dig up on the disappearances in the north of Wyoming.

Not that much. Just the usual, families were worried and distraught, the authorities baffled. Nothing out of the ordinary in one of these cases, just the thing in fact that had flagged it up to Bobby who was otherwise engaged in a hunt of his own three states over.

Pulling into a motel on the edge of the town plagued by the disappearances, Sam elected to stay in the car but watched his brother through the office window as he seemed to take a long time getting a room from the blonde on reception.

On entering the room, he idly wondered if it had become law that no motel had been allowed to redecorate after the nineteen seventies. He was grateful he had never suffered from migraines, his visions aside, or else he would have been sure to get one now. He went to place his bag on the bed. The bed.

"Damn it! Dean?"

"Hey not my fault," holding his hands up as if warding him off. "It's all they'd got. And anyway," grabbing a piece of paper from his jacket and waving it, showing the phone number, "you're on your own tonite."

And Dean gave him one of those grins. ---------------


	2. Chapter 2

After a few hours and a couple of beers, Sam rubbed his eyes then shut down the lap top and sat staring at nothing, still desperately trying not to get hypnotized by the wallpaper. It looked what he thought a bad acid trip might be like. It was so quiet in the room without the fidgeting, the eating, the complaining, basically without his brother's presence. It had to have been a good couple of months since he'd last been left on his own.

He toyed with the idea of going out himself but could not summon up the will. He was too conscious of the swollen eye, so switching on the oldest television set in America, he stripped off and climbed into bed.

According to every channel on the TV, all three that had a descent reception and no pay per view porn, everyone was happy and in a loving relationship. Bullshit. The whole world was fucked up and so were most of the people in it and the ones that weren't were sure to meet someone or something that would fuck it up for them. He toyed with watching the porn then switched off the television and threw the remote across the room with a frustrated grunt.

Damn, he had either had one too many beers or not enough. He was just about to switch off the light and hopefully his mind when an urgent banging hit the door and a 'whispered' shout, "Sammy. Quick, let me in."

Annoyance and relief vied for dominance as he swung out of bed and opened the door to a half dressed Dean. "Don't ask!" his brother commanded as he pushed his way into the room throwing his boots and jeans to the floor.

"You know I've got to," hardly managing to keep the amusement from his voice, closing and relocking the door.

Dean straightened and faced him, his hand slashing to emphasize each word, "Wined. Dined. Bedroom. Husband. Big fucker. Window. Here," and held up a finger pointing at Sam, "No speak!" he instructed and turning on the spot and with as much dignity as he could muster, marched into the bathroom.

Getting back into bed, Sam felt much better, whether from the reassurance of his brother's presence or the amusement factor, he didn't know. "You'd better not be doing what I think you're doing in there?" he called mockingly.

"Dude. Have a heart!" came the pained reply and Sam just laughed the louder.

When Dean finally came back into the room, Sam was just sat up waiting, causing Dean to stop in his tracks. Then giving a small shake of the head, accompanied by that slight knowing smile, he climbed in beside his brother.

"What?" Sam was instantly annoyed.

"Nothing _dear_," and he gave Sam a quick peck on the check before turning his back and pulling the covers up to his ears. "Hey, keep to your side," Dean said as he got a kick for his troubles.

Sam smiled knowing Dean could not see it and it grew broader as he imagined the scene of him having to climb out of the window like in some farce on TV. He wondered how many times this had happened before and was about to ask but looking over, realised that once more Dean had gone to sleep almost instantly. Damn he hated that, mainly because he never could. He switched off the light and slid down in an attempt to sleep also.

Soon his eyes had adjusted to the dark, not that difficult as the 'no vacancy' sign shone right into their room. Just what was Dean's track record with women he wondered? Had he ever truly been in love, had he had his heart broken and if so how many times? How many had he met and thought 'this is the one'? They had never really spoken about this kind of thing, all their personal conversations had been about Dad. The only times they spoke about relationships, it had been flippant apart from when concerning Jess. There had been Cassie, he knew about her but that was it and even then Dean had been tight lipped about it all.

And just look at his own track record with women. Jessica with whom he had intended to spend the rest of his life was dead due to him and when finally meeting and finding and feeling for another women, he had been forced to kill her himself. That said it all. He had finally found a woman he cared for again and she was a lycanthrope. He was certain now that he had not just been bred and nurtured from afar by demons but he had been cursed and God help anyone he became emotionally attached to.

And yet, he thought, he was here lying next to another he loved, the only one he loved and whose time was already running out. 'Dead man snoring' he thought with gallows humour then berated himself for it. He reached out a hand to touch his brother gently, just to assure himself that Dean was still there, still warm, still breathing.

Maybe that was it, maybe that was why people mistook their relationship so often? He had lost everyone that he cared about, his Mom, Dad, Jessica and Madison and that just left Dean. And if he did not do something soon, if he could not find a way to break that damn deal his brother had gone and made, he would lose him too. The thought was crippling him. That was also due to him. It had all been due to him one way or another. Because as an infant he had been chosen.

So he was clinging on desperately, not wanting to let Dean go, to be without him and maybe that intensity of emotion was being read by others but being read wrongly because no one could possibly know what was happening between them, to them.

He just did not know, but Sam did know that he did indeed love his brother, loved him intensely. The man had agreed to go to Hell for him, literally. How could you not love someone who would willingly do that? Especially now they knew what would become of him.

Turning onto his side, Sam raised up, leaning on bent arm, to study Dean's face in the neon light seeping through the thin curtains. The sight made him ache inside. Dean looked so at peace, his whole face relaxed as he now lay on his back. Sam found his eyes drawn to the pendent he had never seen him without since he had given it to him at Christmas all those years ago. It brought a smile to his lips and once more he thought how much he loved this man.

Did other siblings care about each other as much as they did? Or did all the things they had seen, had been through, make theirs a special bond? He wished he knew of a way he could express to Dean just how much he needed him and just how much he had to find a way to prevent what was becoming increasingly inevitable. He always changed the subject or became angry whenever Sam mentioned it.

Damn! Why could Dean not have just left things as they had played out? Sure he was glad he wasn't still dead but the priceof bringing him back? It was way too much. Sam's life was just not worth his brother's soul!

He was seized with an overwhelming desire to do something, anything but was not clear as to what it should be. Glancing towards the window, it was still deep night but he was wide awake. He could get up and using the lamp, 'hit the books' he supposed, but he was warm and comforted by the strong solid presence so close beside him. So instead, he leant over and placed a heart aching kiss to Dean's forehead as he would never dare to do if he was awake. Then sinking down to the pillow, he ran the back of his bent fingers down the closest cheek causing Dean to stir slightly and resettle with his face turned to Sam and his body relaxing once more just a little closer.

As lightly as he could, Sam placed his right hand on Dean's bare shoulder and slowly let the weight lay, not wanting to awaken him and then he just watched his brother sleep. ---------------


	3. Chapter 3

There had been repeated disappearances over the last forty years or so but with no pattern, no specific dates and no particular type of person. Occasionally it was a single victim who would disappear, sometimes a whole car full. Often things were found, the abandoned car, a shoe, a wallet but no trace of the bodies. In total it was thought that twenty two people had gone missing in the same area but it could have easily been more.

With as much research done as they, or rather Sam, could do, there was not a lot to go on. There had been no sightings by anyone able to speak of it and numerous searches every time someone was known to have gone missing had led nowhere.

The biggest lead they had was that there was an area of about two square miles where it all seemed to be happening. So the brothers had been driving around for hours with nothing more to go on than hoping to get a gut instinct or abducted. It was not the best plan they had ever come up with.

"Dean. Look out!"

The car swerved as they narrowly missed the young woman standing in the middle of the lane. Slamming on the breaks, they both exited the car. "Are you alright?" Sam asked approaching her. She was hunched up slightly, backing away as if frightened and made no answer. "Miss. Are you okay?" he tried again.

She lifted her head and he took an involuntary step backwards. Under the long, gloriously thick chestnut hair her face was ravaged by starvation. The cheeks were drawn and hollow and the skin was paper thin. "Run!" she wailed at them. "He's coming. Run," looking behind her frantically.

"Who's coming?" shouted Dean.

She looked behind her again, screamed and disappeared.

The brothers stood looking around, at each other and then as one, moved to the Impala, opening the trunk and getting out extra salt shells now they had an idea there were spirits involved, armed themselves.

Swinging around, sawn offs at the ready, they waited searching the surrounding woods. Sunlight lit through the trees at that late afternoon angle, burning orange and heralding the onset of dusk. Great, another night, another dark wood and then another scream.

"Where'd that come from?" Dean asked spinning around.

Another lower pitched wail, "Opposite direction to that."

"That's just peachy!" and striking Sam on the shoulder, commanded, "Come on. This way." And Dean disappeared into the trees before Sam could even get a, "No. Wait!" out.

"Damn it!" then followed in the elder's footsteps.

Catching up he grabbed his brother's arm, "Dean, hold up. We don't know where to go."

"No, but she does," pointing at the female spirit they'd nearly run down and moved to follow her as she turned and headed deeper into the wood.

'Could be worse,' Sam thought, 'it could be a 'deep dark dank wood'', just as the trees grew closer together blocking out most of the dappled light. 'Great!' Another wail and he spun to his left just making out what seemed to be a young teenage boy who, once seen, took off running. "Dean!" he shouted then ran in pursuit.

"Damnit! Sam, where you goin'?" and turned to follow coming up short as the female appeared directly in his path screaming, "_No!_" in his face and pointed the other way. "Damn!" then looking at the emaciated face before him, he spoke directly to her, "What the Hell is going on?"

She disappeared. Looking around, he had lost track of Sam and Dean let out a wail of his own, full of anger and frustration then saw her waiting for him yards away. With no idea what else to do, he followed.

The youth he was chasing suddenly stopped, turned and came at him. Non plussed, Sam just stood there not reacting in time as he was barrelled into, coming to a stop with his back slamming into a tree. The face was the same as the woman's had been, drawn, grey with parchment like skin. The boy screamed beseechingly in Sam's face filling him with such a sense of sorrow. Then he was alone.

Standing, stretching his back and shoulders, he stopped short looking around. Shit he _was_ alone. He had managed to get separated from his brother and thought to shout for him but they had seen two spirits already and both looked and acted like victims. He was sure of it. So what else was out here? What had these ghosts trapped and still so frightened?

He thought of the car crash spirit and her never ending quest to find David, her husband. But somehow he knew that the boy realised he was dead but was still here never the less. He wondered if the boy knew why?

He picked up the gun and started walking in the direction he had come from. The youth appeared again in his path, pointing behind Sam. He swung around but there was nothing there. So he guessed he had been given directions. He looked back to ask but the wood was silent and empty so with no other theory to act upon, he started off in the direction indicated, hoping he would come across Dean sooner rather than later but pretty sure he would walk into a trap instead.

After near an hour's wandering in thickening woodland, always seeing the boy if he was veering off course, Sam stopped at the first sight of a dilapidated wooden shed. There was really no other term for it as it was wood and small enough to not be out of place at the bottom of someone's yard, apart from the ivy and other plant life smothering it. The boy stood next to the thing while managing to cower away all at the same time. He turned frightened eyes to Sam, a finger to his near invisible lips warning him to silence.

There was a crackling of broken twigs, a muffled thud and Sam brought the shotgun up ready only to laugh out in relief at the swearing Dean as he rounded the thing from the other side.

"Dean," he called and jumped out of the way as a matching gun was raised and aimed at him.

"Dude. Don't do that!" came the shocked reply. He did not look happy at all. There was dirt all up his left side, on his face and he was fuming. Marching up to Sam he demanded, "Where the hell did you go?"

"Me?" shocked but also relieved that they had found each other, "You're the one chasing spirits into the woods. Good move by the way and where the hell are we?" looking around, not seeing much. Their guides seemed to have left them. He guessed they were in the right place. "Hand me a torch."

"What? You've got them."

"Oh great!"

There was movement in the trees and they stopped their bickering to listen and watch. It went quiet, tense, with the whole night just waiting for something to happen.

A scream and the woman was back pointing, screeching as Dean was lifted and hurled against a tree and as Sam swung around, he saw a blur of dark overalls, plaid shirt and fury. Then he was hit by what he vaguely recognised as an axe handle descending whilst hearing the shout of his name and a shotgun blast.

Noise, that's what Sam's whole existence was made up of. Some in his head as the pain swept through him in waves but mainly from without, around and directly above him. Slowly opening his eyes, it was all confusion. He was on the ground, cold and dampness against his side and face and all he could see were feet.

Off to his right, old fashioned sandals with what were once white ankle socks shuffling forwards and then running back accompanied by that high pitched screaming he had been hearing all evening. Wailing and a pair of pumps like the old baseball players wore 'way back when' were off to the left and, managing to bring his eyes fully into focus, Sam saw a pair of black boots planted either side of his outstretched arm.

The boots swivelled on the spot as the sound of the blast from a salt gun was almost deafening, fired right above him accompanied by a litany of swearing. Empty shell casings hit the ground close to his head as the gun was reloaded and another blast and he heard the cursing and, "Damn it! Give up already!" a pause then, "Stop with the damn wailing kid and do something useful. Tell me where you are. Where'd he die? Where's the bastard buried? Damn it!" another blast, more casings on the ground and then Dean's voice added his own scream to the spectres before him. "Shut up!" loud, in a rage and suddenly there was silence.

Sam groaned trying to push himself up from the ground but could not manage it. Immediately Dean was crouching beside him, a hand to his shoulder, "Sammy? You back with me? Come on, get up. We gotta go! Damn it!" almost in tears of frustration as he swung around and discharged the gun once more. "Why the Hell won't you just quit already? ...Sammy…. get up!"

He tried once more, managing this time to climb to his hands and knees then, pausing to give the planet time to stop rocking, made it all the way to very unsteady feet.

"You okay?" Dean asked worriedly.

Sam put a hand to his head and answered uncertainly, "Yeah…Yeah I'm okay."

"Good! Now grab your gun and let's get out of here."

He bent to comply. It was not a wise move as a wave of nausea and dizziness over came him and he stumbled with only the hand grabbing his arm stopping him from spreading on the ground once more. One final blast from Dean's gun and his arm was slung over Dean's shoulder and his brother began to pull him along, his feet fighting to keep up.

The girl showed up again, shrieking her anger and defiance at them for leaving, for not being able to put a stop to her fear and continued torment. Dean raised the gun to her, "Get out of the way. Show me the way out and I promise we'll be back. But we gotta leave now. My brother's hurt and right now I can't help you till you get us out! Do you understand me?" Dean was angry but pleading for understanding. He would shoot if she didn't move but he heard movement behind and, still holding Sam up, swung the gun around and fired at the entity that was causing them all such anguish.

He turned back and continued to struggle on in what he hoped was the right direction. He must have gotten through to her, his desperation cutting through hers, as she pointed in the direction behind her and began to lead as she had before.

Slowly Sam managed to get his feet to function beneath him, gradually taking the strain from Dean so by the time they burst back onto the dirt track he was able to steady himself against the car, moving around to pull open the door and so gratefully collapse into the passenger seat.

Dean opened his door but paused not getting in but looked back to see the boy and woman standing, looking reproachful but thankfully silently at him. "I promise," he repeated, "We will come back. We _will_ fix this." And climbing behind the wheel, started the engine without delay and reversing uttered, "Son of a bitch!" as he saw the large figure in the rear-view mirror. "This guy won't damn well give up!" and just carried on reversing. The car jolted as the figure evaporated when the Impala slammed into it then, finally emerging off the lane onto the road, he swung the wheel, put her in gear and roared away.

"Sammy? Talk to me."

Sam's aching head slowly swung to him, seeing the fear and uncertainty on his brother's face. "I'm okay," He told him quietly but did not believe it himself. Is this what one of those migraines felt like? He gently touched the top of his head and decided it was the stupidest thing he had ever done, "Stop. Dean, stop the car." And as Dean complied whilst looking all around for the danger, Sam opened the door and leaning out, retched.

When finished he sat back looking the figure of wretched despair but remarkably felt a whole lot better. "If you got any of that on my car you're cleaning it," Dean said trying for levity, covering up his continued concern.

Sam could not summon up the energy to even look at him, "Please, Dean. Just get us … back." He nearly said home. He supposed it was really. Home was wherever he left his laptop these days. He closed his eyes, missing the anxious look but felt the car begin to move at a much steadier rate. -

Tbc…


	4. Chapter 4

At the relative safety of the motel on the edge of town, Sam took his time to calm down, begin to recuperate and then worry. As soon as they had entered the room, after Dean had checked that he would indeed be alright, he had collapsed onto his side of the bed and practically fallen into a coma whilst in the process of removing his jacket. Sam sat on the edge of the bed, leaning back against the headboard and stared at his brother.

He was filthy, his hands, face and clothes were all covered in patches of dirt and blood from the numerous scratches and scrapes acquired during their nocturnal adventure, their hunt. This was just an interlude. They had not managed to eradicate the threat, just really piss it off, but with their retreat, it was no doubt planning and storing up who knew what for later.

Elbows on knees, Sam's head dropped into his hands as he breathed deeply trying to still the anxious knocking of his heart against his ribs. He envied Dean, already breathing the deep drafts of sleep across from him, and not for the first time. Far from it in fact.

Dean had always been more comfortable with life than his younger brother and not just in their life as hunters but seemed to fit in better with the world all around. That charm that he could turn on and off at need, that he could adapt to his audience almost subconsciously whenever he needed something from them, be it directions, information or something much more direct. He could unfreeze even the hardest heart to get what he needed from male or female and always left people feeling good about his presence about being able to be of help to him.

Nevermind his success with women. He was just so much more confident than Sam was but it was not surprising as he was so much better looking. Dean was handsome the way a man should be. Sam was no fool or falsely modest. He knew he was far from ugly or even plain but his appeal was more of a 'pretty' verity.

Women would focus on his brother so often that he had stopped noticing and would need to be informed, usually by a kick, if it was him that was the appeal. But with his brother about it was rare. No woman wanted to tame Sam, wanted to dice with that bit of danger or be saved by him as they did Dean.

He could fight, hell that's all he seemed to do lately, but on looking at him, he would not be expected to be able to come to anyone's rescue. He was the brains and Dean the brawn. The preconceived ideas on first impression pissed them both off but neither had or would ever admit it to the other.

The only thing they had ever truly, honestly shared their feelings about with each other had been over Dad. The long search for him then dealing with his final loss. They talked about him a lot. Dean had idolised the man but was reluctant to talk about their mother. More envy as Dean could remember her if only slightly and Sam of course could not.

Sighing, he wearily stood and began to strip, leaving a pile of clothes equally as dirty as those Dean had not managed to divest and headed for the bathroom to shower.

On entering, catching his reflection in the mirror over the sink, he saw his face also was covered with streaks of dirt, ash and blood. The sight held no fear for him, unlike when he had seen Dean's damaged face, because Sam seemed to heal remarkably quickly. The scrapes and scratches were nothing and deeper wounds from claws, knives and car wrecks all healed with barely a scar if any at all.

Even his black eye, only two days old, already was that dirty yellow of bruise about ready to fade completely. Only his bones seemed to take the usual time to mend. He had had that cast on his wrist for what seemed an eternity. His fast healing another 'gift' from his Demon heritage possibly?

Deciding he had had enough with thinking, he switched on the shower and standing under the fitful jets of warm water, let them soak then wash the grime away. ===

Sam shocked awake. Rubbing a trembling hand through his hair then across his face, he looked around becoming disorientated by the bright sunshine streaming through the curtains. He sat up, scooting back to lean against the headboard. Shit, that had been bad. A nightmare, well 'day-mare', simple but terrifying. No monsters, nothing chasing him or trying to kill him. No ghost, ghouls or even clowns. He had been alone, pure and simple. In the dream nothing much happened, he got up, went to work, he actually had had a job, but he was alone. No family, no friends. No Dean.

He hugged himself. Lingering over from the dream was that feeling of pure emptiness and, the most terrifying thing about it all was, he had an idea that it was prophetic, how he would be once, if, he lost Dean. It would be unbearable. He drew his legs up, folding his arms across them, dropped his head and simply let the tears fall.

How long for he didn't know but the bed moved and a hand was placed on the back of his neck. Sam slowly looked up into the concerned questioning eyes of his brother. The look pierced his heart and a sob escaped him. He was immediately embarrassed and prepared for sarcasm but Dean gently pulled with the hand on his nape and he relaxed his body as he was pulled into the comforting, encircling arms of home.

Dean did not say anything, he just held him, slowly rocking him and stroking his hair. He should have felt awkward, there had never been this kind of contact in their family once they'd grown but, right now, Sammy needed it.

As he got himself under control, his hands slid to Dean's sides then across his back. His head surfaced to rest on a shoulder and holding on for dear life, he relaxed once more. Still his brother said nothing just returning the pressure of the hug. Sam pulled back to look closely at his face, to study it.

For once Dean was serious and quiet. That's what made him do it or rather allowed him to do it. Cupping Dean's face with his hand, still looking intently at the concern and rare stillness, he leant forwards and kissed him securely on the lips wanting to express everything that he had previously tried to explain, argue and convince him about finding a way out of that foolish deal.

Dean tensed up obviously shocked but thankfully did not pull or push him away. Sam was so grateful, for that would have broken his heart. Looking at his brother once more, he could not say anything and just held his breath for he dreaded that Dean would not understand or even worse ridicule him. "Sammy. What is it?" spoken softly.

"You can not leave me."

"I don't have a choice."

"There's always a choice. We just have to find a way. You have to stop pretending you're alright with this." Dean's head dropped, letting out a resigned breath. "No. Dean!" holding his face with both hands, this time forcing it up. "If you don't give a shit about yourself, do you care about me?"

"Cause I do. You know that!" angry pulling away from the hands. If he didn't, he wouldn't be in this mess.

"Then don't give up. Fight. We will find a way to break this deal of yours."

"I can't," pained.

"Why the hell not?" Sam was getting angry. They did nothing but argue about it, knowing the out come of that pact he'd made at the crossroads, and arguing about why he had done it. That's if Dean was even willing to speak about it at all.

Dean held him by the shoulders, shaking him in emphasis as he said, "I just can't. Trust me on this. I can't do anything."

"Well I can. And I damn well will! I will not let you go to Hell and become one of _them_. Not because of me or for me. I can _not_ lose you!" and if Sam had ever doubted that his brother loved him, the look he was receiving now would have put him to shame. Dean looked gratified but scared, all mixed up with love.

Sam's anger fled and he just stilled, studying Dean's face, the eyes so clear and piercing, admiring the fine features whilst trying not to see the scratches and dirt marring his appeal and his eyes settled on the lips, slightly parted, waiting for them to speak.

"Dude. You're not going to kiss me again are you?"

Damn, he really wanted to, not entirely sure why now but he did. He smiled, "You _so_ need a shower. And toothpaste wouldn't go a miss either."

Dean stood and, hand in Sam's face, pushed him roughly to the bed and laughing walked off towards the bathroom, peeling off the filthy clothes and dropping them to the floor on the way.

Sitting up once more, Sam pulled his knees up, wrapping his arms around them again but this time smiled turning into a laugh as he heard, "_Shit!_" as Dean had obviously just seen his reflection. Then "Sammy! We need a truck load more rock salt. He _is_ going _down_!" Then the sound of the water being turned on. ===

"You hungry?"

Looking up from the laptop, Sam realised that yes, he could eat and nodded going back to the screen. "You need to put something on those cuts." The brief glance was all he could take seeing the angry red slashes and bruised flesh. He studiously concentrated on the newspaper archives he had found on the net ignoring the sounds as Dean, clad only in the thin motel towel, moved towards his bag.

Riffling through the duffel he asked, "Where's the kit?"

Sam looked over and found now he could do nothing but stare at the play of muscles across his brother's back as half kneeling, he searched the bag. His attention now caught, his gaze slowly travelled along Dean's spine then down past the towel, which failed in the job of being big enough for its current purpose.

Getting no reply, Dean discarded the bag and twisted around then looked down at himself curious as to what Sam was staring at, "What?"

"Huh?"

"What you staring at?"

Sam's eyes slowly moved up Dean's body from the exposed thigh that had had him intrigued. Making eye contact, he came back to himself and quickly covered his embarrassment by standing and moving to his bag to retrieve the first aid kit they constantly had need of. "You're bruised all over. What happened last nite while we got separated?" turning his back and fumbling, trying to get the tube of antiseptic cream.

What the hell was wrong with him? He had been fixated on the tightness where the towel was stretched across Dean's buttock and the gap as the edges failed to meet and cover the tense thigh as he crouched there.

Dean used the bed to pull himself up, groaning under his breath at the ache in every part of his being, "Trees!" he groaned, "Trees with roots."

"So, you got all that from tripping over tree roots?" Sam asked incredulous.

"Yes," Dean answered disgustedly, "and the couple of times that manic giant in the plaid threw me at them!"

Sam winced as he turned to look at him, holding out the ointment. Dean just sat on the bed looking like his battery had wound down. Moving closer, Sam took the top off the tube and squeezed the white cream onto a finger then tilting Dean's chin up, gently began smearing antiseptic on the largest cut. "Sorry," he added at the sharp hiss of sucked in breath before him. He knew the stuff stung like hell but it would do its job.

Dean let Sam continue even though it hurt and he was taking so long about it. He studied the intent expression on the younger man's face. There was something up with him. Something more than the usual that is and he was trying to figure out what it was exactly. The fingers touching his face were delicate and Dean was convinced that there was no way he had that many scratches and scrapes as Sam's fingers were everywhere. They traced the line of his cheekbones down to his jaw and lingered on that place below the ear where hard bone gave way to softness.

The cream had been forgotten as the fingers moved up and outlined his eyebrows. The concentration on Sam's face fascinated him and he had to admit that he was enjoying the attention on his abused skin. It was delicate, soothing and relaxing. His eyes became heavy and settled on watching Sam's mouth as he bit at his bottom lip in an unconscious manner that suddenly brought Dean slamming back to the weirdness of the situation.

He jerked 'awake' startling Sam who stood there looking pole axed. He wasn't sure who was the more shocked but the moment was awkward and Dean coughed getting up saying, "Food. I need food," and proceeded to dress, quickly grabbing clothes from his bag but convinced without turning around that he was being watched.

How was he going to justify his actions to Dean when he was uncertain of them himself? Sam could pretend like he had not just been caressing the face before him and was just applying ointment but that was so obviously untrue. He had just done it. No thought, no reasoning, just let his fingers have their will and Dean looked to be aware but had decided just to ignore the matter as he stood there impatiently.

Dean was waiting for an answer and as none was forthcoming repeated a bit more harshly than intended, "Well? You coming or not?"

"Where?" confused, embarrassed but also relieved that he was speaking to him still.

"To get something to eat, duffuss!"

"Sure," and grabbing up jacket and laptop, Sam had to hurry to catch up as Dean almost fled the room. ===

TBC…


	5. Chapter 5

"Look at this," and he turned the screen to his brother but held onto it as Dean reached out with a hand still holding the 'sandwich'. "Watch it! You're dripping stuff," he said disgusted but Dean just grinned and took another bite. Sam sighed in a, 'I give up' manner then said, "Fine. But look, its newspaper archives from way back. Do they look familiar?"

Dean peered at the screen then nodded but not too certainly. "It's a bad picture but it could be them," he admitted. "It looks old," then he went back to demolishing the 'thing' in his hands.

"Nineteen fifty seven. I thought their clothes were dated so I started in the forties." Dean cocked an eyebrow at the fashion comment but with a mouthful, missed the opportunity to mock. Sam carried on oblivious, "A teenage girl and her younger brother went missing, Alice and David Johnston. Went walking to visit grandparents and never got there. I think it's them."

"You think they've been screaming at people all that time?" Dean could still hear the shrill noise and dreaded to think what had happened to make the girl sound like that.

"Could be. They weren't the first. A few more teenagers and early twenties went missing in the three years before them. Both male and female but they were the last before a local farmer who had been questioned a couple of times also went missing."

"Let me guess. The disappearances stopped?"

"Yep. Until nineteen eighty three. Then people have been vanishing at the rate of one or two every couple of years. The last, a local high school student, Tomas Harvey. That was over seven months ago."

"You think we need go and see his family?"

Sam was not keen, "I can't see much point. We'd only upset them and they wouldn't tell us anything different than to the Sheriff's Department. It's not as if they wouldn't have done all they could. And after half a year ….. ?" shrugging.

Dean had to agree, also relieved. He hated lying to, dealing with grieving families. He focused on a nagging detail. "What happened then? Why eighty three?" fixing Sam with a suspicious look. It might just be a coincidence but who knew?

Sam just answered him with another shrug, "So you think matters were taken in hand and the chief suspect just _happened_ to disappear?"

"Makes sense why he's still here doing what he does. No trial or justice."

"Bet someone thought it was justice," Sam said nodding in agreement pausing to consider while Dean finished off his meal then ventured, "My bets the Sheriff. They had him, Burt Glummer, in several times but couldn't prove anything."

"Got a picture?" asked Dean cleaning his hands on a paper napkin.

Sam shook his head, "Lived on a small holding that backed onto the woods," spoken like a question as if wanting Dean to agree that that was their 'spirit'.

"Sounds like a candidate to me," he had to agree. "Don't suppose you found out where he's buried?" it had been too much to hope for. Sam looked glum shaking his head so he added, "You did good. When'd you have time to find all this out?"

"While you were in the shower."

"I didn't take that long."

Sam laughed at that, "You take forever! Then there's the hair!"

Dean grinned, "Looks good though. You gotta agree."

Yes, he thought to himself, he supposed he did, it did, but he was not going to tell his brother that.

"Speaking of which. When you gonna get a descent cut?" and Dean raised eyebrows at him.

"The day you eat something remotely healthy," thinking his hair was safe.

"Hey it had vegetables in!" mock defensive, pointing at the empty plate.

"Dill pickle does not count as a vegetable," as if speaking to a child.

"They're green. Sort of," deflating slightly.

Sam sighed again and sat back rubbing at his eyes. He was tired and had no idea how he was going to be able to cope with the hunt tonight.

"Man. You look how I feel," Dean told him, "What say we rest up tonite and go after it tomorrow? He's not going anywhere."

"You sure?" surprised as Dean was usually all about rushing in and getting the job done.

"He's been around this long."

"No. I mean about waiting. You promised that girl."

Dean looked to be having second thoughts but he ached so much and it was not that long since Sam had been knocked out by that ghost axe. It had sounded solid enough and Sam had been out for a hell of a long time. "No. You…_We_ need to rest up."

Decision made, he called for the check. =====

Sam slammed his laptop shut in frustration then immediately checked to see that it was okay. "Nothing then?" he looked over at Dean lying on the bed, beer in hand, watching some dumb cop show on TV. He tried to think of a sarcastic comeback but he was too tired and just shrugged, "No."

"Want a beer?"

"No," just as tiredly and stood up too quickly causing stiff muscles to complain. He arched back, hands in the centre of his back.

"Come on _old man_. Lighten up. Have a bottle," and Dean reached down to get one from the floor for him, eyes still on the TV.

'Why not?' Sam thought and moved across to accept the bottle held out to him. "Funny," as it moved every time he made to take hold of it. Finally relenting, Dean let him have it and Sam dropped onto the bed as if felled making Dean grunt as he nearly lost his own beer.

"Please tell me you ache as much as I do," Sam pleaded.

"Yep. Hey…" as if he'd just had a bright idea but Dean had been thinking about it for a while, "we could order in a couple of masseuses. That'd be good. Maybe get a little _relief_?" and he turned his head, waggling his eyebrows at Sam.

"Asshole."

"I'm serious! A massage would do us a world of good and you could really do with some action. Stop you being all tense and pent up for a change." The pillow hit him hard. "Hey! Watch the beer!" but he was laughing.

Sam lay back regretting the loss of the pillow and closed his eyes thinking that Dean was right. It had been a long time since he had had any 'action' or, as he would prefer, been intimate with someone. And now he set to brooding about the lack of contact, that human touch that could be so light but could be felt clear through to your soul.

Restless now and somewhat pissed off, he turned onto his side and tried to get comfortable but with everything sore, he just slumped back and stared up at the ceiling. The sound on the TV changed as his brother flicked through the channels, his attention span lessening the more he flicked through the distorted channels then at last settled on one, "Now that's more like it."

And Sam groaned at the noises coming from the screen. "Oh my G … Please. Dean? Do you have to?"

"Awe come on! Watch it, it'll do you good. See now look at that. That's what a woman is 'n' ya see what the man's doin'? Now that's called fu…"

"Shut up!" and jumping up off the bed, grabbed the remote from his brother and moved to unplug the TV.

"Sam! Come on. Give me a break! I thought we were supposed to be relaxing here?"

"Fine!" and he threw the remote back then stormed off into the bathroom.

By the time he had gotten ready for bed, the TV was back on but on a music channel with the least relaxing cacophony he could think off. He stood and looked down at Dean exasperated. He had to put up with it in the car but in the 'bedroom' as well? And how the hell had he managed to get the channel in the first place?

"What?" asked in all innocence by his brother sprawled out on the bed still wearing his boots.

Sam gave up and getting undressed, climbed under the covers and prayed for the oblivion of sleep but it was not to be so, turning stiffly, he laid on his side and watched Dean who cradled his beer and sang along to the videos badly, oblivious to his regard.

Sam found he could not help but smile at the seemingly contentedness of his brother. At times like this it appeared that it didn't take much for him to be happy. Dean did not crave material possessions or recognition, rarely bought anything other than food and ammo and now was relaxed, foot tapping along to the music, his singing getting worse but thankfully quieter and looking as if all was right with the world.

Of course it was not. This was just a very brief interlude in the nightmare that had become their lives. Did Dean, he wondered, actually hanker after a normal life? If things had been different right from the start, no demon, no death, no life on the road, would they be as close? He doubted they could be but would they not still be in each others lives? He tried to imagine what Dean would be like. Married, job children maybe? But it was all pointless wondering. This was just a respite and tomorrow they had to deal with Glummer.

Sudden quiet other then the noise of Dean attempting to get up. "Dude, you shoulda let me phone for a masseuse. I ache from here to Sunday," he complained and eventually, on the third try, Dean managed to get up and headed to the bathroom. Sam had to smile at the continual running commentary on all the various aches and pains coming from the small room. The door slammed but his voice continued on, muffled through the wall, then Dean was back in the room, still complaining.

He could not help but watch as Dean began to strip. Sam knew he should not be interested but he was. He wanted to see just as earlier he'd been fascinated by a view of his thigh. "Shit Dean!" and he sat up at the sight of the bruising all down the left side of his brother, livid purple and burgundy. It brought a pain to his heart and a fist to his belly.

Dean looked around and down at himself, nodding and commenting simply, "Ur…huh," and carried on stripping off his pants. The bruising continued down to his briefs and lower.

"Oh, Dean!" he could think of nothing else to say. Dean looked at his brother, lifting one of those brows again. Sam sounded so sorrowful and looked about to cry. He was going to make some crack about him being a big girl but the expression on Sam's face, as he slowly moved towards him, kneeling on the bed with hand out unsteadily to touch his side, stilled his tongue. He hissed at the contact bringing Sam to look him in the eye and stop staring at the bruising, "I'm so sorry, Dean."

"Sammy? It's not your fault. You've nothing to be sorry for." Dean tilted his head to the side wondering why Sam should think so.

"I shouldn't have let us get separated in the woods. I should have followed you."

"It doesn't matter now." This was getting a bit afternoon movieish so he added, "You better do damn well as I tell you tomorrow though bro'!"

Sam looked him in the eye and solemnly nodded and agreed, "I will."

Dean laughed, "Dude?" making Sam flinch then retreat looking not unlike he used to do when he would not let him have his way when they were kids. He felt bad about denying Sam anything, much as he had then, but this had been getting a little intense. He turned away and bent to get a t-shirt to sleep in and could not contain the groan as once more everything complained.

Sam could not stand to hear that noise anymore, the noise of his brother in discomfort. "Lie on the bed," he instructed as he once more went to get their first aid supplies. He turned holding a tube of muscle ease and waited, looking impatient as Dean just stood there, shirt in hand, staring at him with one of those 'you got to be kidding me' expressions. "Lie on the bed," he repeated sounding annoyed, "I am not going to listen to you groaning and moaning all night. Get on the bed and _I'll _give you that damned massage!"

"I don't think so!" Dean said aghast.

"Get on the bed now!" through gritted teeth. He had wanted to do something to ease Dean's pain, pure and simple, but of course Dean had to be downright awkward and make everything into a joke or sneer and it frustrated him. It made him damn well angry.

Dean wanted to argue and was about to say something about keeping his girlie hands off him but the tone of his voice and that look he was receiving made him think better of it and he acquiesced by gingerly lying down, full length on his front, leaning on his forearms.

Sam sat carefully next to him and repeated his actions of earlier with the antiseptic. "Jeez Sam! That's cold."

"Stop bitchin'"

"Me?" incredulous, twisting around then, really wishing he hadn't, collapsed down finally giving in as Sam gently spread the cream across his shoulders.

Sam was watching intently as his fingers moved across the lightly freckled skin. He massaged the tense shoulder muscles causing Dean to groan and then begin to moan, "Oh that's good. Sammy. That's really good," making him smile. He continued as Dean sank further into the bed and found he enjoyed the feeling under his hands.

He had not really planned this exactly but had wondered what Dean's skin would feel like while staring at that thigh. He had found himself remembering that glimpse all day, while on the net, while in the diner, while waiting for Dean to come out of the bathroom.

He added more cream and slowly continued kneading Dean's flesh down his back and right flank, avoiding the bruised area thinking a cream that is designed to heat up tired muscle would not be the wisest choice for damaged skin. He continued to press along the spine with his left hand, his right cupping around Dean's side, feeling the ribs under the stretched side as Dean's arms moved up to either side of his head.

This had not seemed such a good idea but Dean had to admit Sam knew what he was doing. He could feel the tension seeping out of his back and shoulders as the cream began to heat on his skin and his brother's fingers down his side felt good. As they continued to press, knead and gently pinch his side, he felt himself relax and begin to drift. Fingers circling in the small of his back just under the waistband of his shorts made his hips move.

Breath held, Sam dared to let his hand continue to massage, sliding the elastic of Dean's briefs down slightly, his fingers spreading out onto his hip, palm on his buttock. His left hand began to move upwards, back to his brother's shoulders and the back of his neck. He did not want Dean to stop him. He wanted to explore even though he had a nagging voice in his mind telling him he shouldn't be doing this.

Dean was watching from the corner of his eye, his head turned to the left on the pillow. He had been enjoying the hands on his shoulders and back whilst letting his mind drift. The continued attention pressing his hips into the bed had made him relax then a part of him take an unexpected interest. It was not until a hand enclosed his butt cheek, pushing around onto his hip, that he really noticed how much interest his body had acquired. He had opened his eyes and saw Sam's face so intent on his actions. He had his bottom lip trapped between his teeth again.

This was weird, way past weird, it had gone into wrongness but how to get out of it with out embarrassing them both? After all, it may be Sam who had decided to 'touch up' his brother but it was said brother who was getting excited in his shorts. Just a purely physical reaction he was sure but what was up with Sam? Okay, that was a touch too far as the hand on his hip circled down around onto his thigh then was dragged back up over his buttock, clasping it.

"Sam?" he spoke as if sleepy and rubbed his face against the pillow continuing with the ploy.

"Yeah?" distracted, not really listening.

"Would you do my shoulders again? It felt really good," and yawned.

"Sure"

And Dean was relieved when the hand left his ass and both were used to give, he admitted, a damn fine massage to his shoulders. He began to relax his body once more but his mind was thinking furiously. When he'd told Sam that he needed to get laid it had been in jest but now he was convinced. He had to get his brother laid and quick. He was obviously in need of that kind of attention and the way he was going, if he didn't do something soon, all that pent up frustration might just well be turned on him as the closest available body.

No. That was stupid. There was no way his brother had fixated on him like that. What the hell was he thinking? He knew he was attractive, damn, he was devastating, but come on? This was his brother he was thinking about. Damn, that felt good. Where had Sam learnt to do that? Dean pushed his head down as fingers crept up his neck into his hair. He could not help letting out a small moan as he twisted his body, his leg bending, moving up until its progress was stopped by the figure sitting there. This was wrong, so wrong but it felt so good.

Sam let his left hand follow the line of Dean's shoulder down his arm then back to lie gently as his other fingers continued to push through the freshly washed hair. He was not really thinking much at all other than the feel and textures under his hands. He had no ideas or plans, just enjoyed the contact in the stillness of the room.

A leg bumped him from behind disturbing the calm and he realised with amazement that Dean was now enjoying his ministrations. He must be for he was letting it continue. His eyes came back into focus and he actually saw what he was doing.

He was suddenly very self conscious and did not know what to do. Just stop? That would make it appear he knew there was something wrong. Well, there was he admitted. He was touching his brother and what's more his brother seemed to like it. Sam shifted slightly where he sat, not wanting to lose contact, but having to accommodate the part of him that was definitely letting him know he was getting enjoyment from this.

The fingers had stilled their movement in his hair so Dean turned his head to look at Sam wanting to know why. He was just sat there looking back at him, looking very nervous. Damn, this was awkward. If he were to push Sam off he would feel all dejected and become sulky and if he said anything that would leave the way open for them to, 'talk about this'. Sam always wanted to talk about stuff. If he did nothing though, what would Sammy do?

"Turn over and I'll do your front,"

Dean knew that that was not a good idea. There was no way Sam would not notice what his ministrations had done to his body. "No. But thanks. That was great. I think I could really sleep now," it sounded lame but he hoped Sam would take the hint without the rebuke.

"You sure?"

Oh, "Yes," he was sure. Sam was disappointed he could tell but really, just what the hell had been happening here? This was new and he hoped an aberration. He watched as Sam slid from the bed and, grabbing the covers, crawled beneath without another word or glance, his back to him. Slowly and carefully, Dean did the same wary not to lie too close, watching Sam all the while, wondering just what had been going through his mind.

Crap, crap, crap! Had Dean realised what he had been doing or had he drifted off into sleep as Sam had supposed? Whichever, at least he had not reacted violently or worse, ridiculed him as his hands had continued to explore Dean's body all on their own without any real conscious thought. And why? Sam had caught himself watching his brother more often lately. He knew he was worrying about the seeming inevitability of losing him much more now since that trickster had given him a taste of what it would be like without him.

Watching him die over and over again had been beyond nightmare. It had been an excruciating reality for over a hundred Tuesdays. The only saving grace was that Dean had remained unaware. He could not bare the thought of it being a reality and not just a 'trick'.

The light went out and Sam buried his face in the pillow, clutching it tight. He was cringing at what he had done and the realization of what he had wanted to do if Dean had let him continue. What was wrong with him? Why had he started having all these fantasises about touching Dean, being with Dean as lover not brother? It was recent, very recent, just the last couple of months but enough to have driven him to distraction and to be mesmerised by a mere glimpse of thigh.

And Dean thought he was the one going to Hell. =====

TBC….


	6. Chapter 6

"You got everything?"

"Yes"

"You got the torches?"

"Yes"

"Don't forget the torches!"

"I've got them."

"Good. Right, you got everything?"

"Yes!"

"You got enough salt shells?"

"_Yes_!" through gritted teeth.

"You got the torches?"

"Yes. Give it a rest why don't you. _I've got them_."

"Okay then. Let's go," and Dean moved off towards the trees.

It was an hour later, spent tramping through the woods, looking for the small clearing containing the overgrown shack. They had decided it was the most likely place to be where the victims had been taken and with no other idea as to where Glummer was buried, they hoped that the sister and brother would once more make their presence known and that they knew where the remains were.

"It's got to be around here somewhere." Sam was getting exasperated.

"It would help if your friendly spirits turned up and showed us the way again," Dean replied equally pissed off.

"Maybe if you hadn't threatened her with a gun she would have."

"Unbelievable."

"What is?"

"You are."

"Why?"

"I was in the middle of saving your ass yet again."

"Oh. I'm so _sorry!_ Next time you run off into something half cocked, I'll stay out of the way and just leave you to it shall I?"

"Oh stop with the Prima Donna act." A piercing scream coming from the left stilled them in their tracks and they raised the salt guns. "See? Even she's had enough of your bitchin'."

"Funny!"

The girl stood in their path, the boy behind her. She looked accusingly at them. They looked at each other. "What?" Dean asked her. She turned on her heel and walked off deeper into the woods in a completely different direction to the one they had been heading in. They looked at each other once more and turned to follow, their bickering forgotten. =====

They were outside the shack again. It looked even smaller in the daylight. "I don't get it," Sam stated and dropped the bag at the base of the tree next to him.

"What's not to get? We go in. See if the bastards in there and set it alight." Some things in Dean's world were simple.

"But they never found any of the victims and surely with all the searches they would have found this place." Sam reasoned.

Dean looked at him. He did have a point. "Still. We go in and take a look. They brought us here again and it's where you threw yourself at that axe."

"You're just _so_ funny today. I hurt from the laughter!" and Sam moved off to pull at the ivy trying to find a door, a window or any other way in.

Dean scanned the area. The two 'teenagers' had disappeared again and he didn't like it. He did not think that they saw their job as done. It was far too quiet. "You see anything?" as Sam was shading his eyes, trying to see through a very grimy window.

"No. Pass me a torch."

"Thought you said you had them?"

Still looking for a way in, "Yeah. They're in the bag."

"Where's the bag?" Dean asked scanning around but not seeing it.

"Over there by the tree," sounding exasperated, Sam pointed vaguely without turning. "I think I see a way in," and he turned the corner, gun raised.

"Which tree?" Dean called after him. He could not see it. "Sam?" he could not see him either. "Damn it, Sam? Answer me!" he looked around frantically but there was nothing. He edged up to the shack, peering around the corner where his brother had gone. "Sammy?" There was a gap in the ivy and he headed for it gun at the ready.

"Whoa," as Sam emerged to face the barrel end of the sawn off.

"_Damn it!"_ easing up on the trigger.

"Give me a torch." Holding out a hand, Sam decided to ignore the fact he'd just nearly got a face full of rock salt.

"I couldn't find the bag."

"What?" and moving around Dean, giving him a look telling him what he thought of that, he marched off to retrieve it calling, "It's right here…. Shit. Where'd it go?"

"Damn. I was afraid of that." And Dean began to scan the surrounding area in earnest, gun raised.

The boy was there stood directly in front of Sam, staring at him. He looked so scared and pointed shyly behind him. Sam swung around, gun raised and the huge figure of Glummer, looking royally pissed off, towered over him then pulverised as he shot him full of rock salt.

A scream and the girl ran past Dean and he hit yet another tree. He was getting really fucked off with this. He brought the gun up, still lying there and blasted the figure again as he closed in on Sam. One thing was obvious, he had thought it before but decided not to say anything, Glummer wanted Sam. And he did not think it was just because they were hunting him.

Dean struggled to his feet, watching all the while and Sam did the same. "What say you we just set fire to the shack?"

"There was nothing in there."

"So why'd you want the torch?" just really filling time as they waited. He would be back. The boy was still staring at Sam.

"I wanted to check the floor. There might be a cellar or something."

Dean was thinking, "Sammy. Try and talk to the boy."

"Why me?" looking askance at him.

"I think he's taken to you." It was just a statement, no jollity in his voice. "He's done nothing but stare at you. And he always comes to you."

Dean continued to watch as Sam approached the spectre of the young boy who looked at his brother with eyes far too big in the sunken face. There was a whisper close to his ear, "He's coming back for him," and he turned to look at the girl trying not to show his revulsion for her ravaged face so close to his. So he was right. Glummer wanted Sam and he was just in the way. Nothing new there then. As she stayed still, he tried, "Tell me where he's buried."

She just looked at him, head to one side. He guessed she didn't know. These were the last two to be taken while Glummer was alive and if he had been murdered, chances are that's why these two had never been found. He had an awful image of the two together, holding each other, scared and helpless as they remained trapped, slowly starving to death. They needed to be found too. Surely she knew where she was? "Tell me where he…"

A gun blast and his attention was drawn back to Sam who wasn't there. Just the gun. On the ground. No Sam. The girl screamed. The boy wailed. But neither was as loud as Dean screaming for Sam. He ran around franticly searching but he was not there. How the hell had this happened? How the hell had he managed to lose him? He continued to call out, the boy continued to wail and the girl just stood there. "Where did they go? Where did he take Sam?" he demanded of her. =====

It was dark and he was cold. That was about as much as he knew. And his head hurt, again. Sam opened his eyes and this time managed to keep them that way. There was light but it was weak coming from somewhere behind him. He twisted to try to see where and started to panic. He was hanging by his wrists. He became aware of his weight pulling on them and stood taking some of the pressure off his stretched arms but with his feet barely touching the ground he was on tiptoes. And cold.

He gave up pulling at the shackles, it was just making his wrists hurt more and they were not coming out of the moorings. Taking deep breaths, he told himself to calm down. Slowly he began to look around him and listened intently. He was alone. Well, he qualified, he was the only one moving, breathing, but however the spirit of Glummer had managed to get enough energy to be so corporeal, he had left him alone. Maybe he needed to recharge or something. He just prayed it would take him longer than it would for either him to escape or Dean to find him.

Damn! He needed rescuing again! He was getting really bored with it. He was supposed to be this big leader for hoards of demons and yet he could not stop himself from constantly needing his big brother to come and save his ass. He pulled at the shackles again causing nothing to happen other than for him to swing around.

He suddenly realised where he was. Maybe not geographically, but he was in a dungeon. And not the medieval kind. This was a 'pleasure' dungeon. And there were bodies and they were all sat 'staring' at him.

There were both male and female ranging from skeletal husks to ones that had walked and talked up until a year or two ago. They were already drying out. It was arid in here but cold. He had begun to shiver and realised why as he saw his jacket and shirts, ripped and torn, lying on the stained mattress of the bed over by the wall opposite him as he came to rest. It was filthy, covered in stains he did not want to think about but the predominant colour was that of old blood.

A foot caught his eye and he could have wept for the pathetic image of the girl in the flowery dress and the bobby socks and sandals. Her brother had been propped up against her. Fifty years had taken its toll yet her hair still held its colour and he knew unmistakably it was them. "Please, Alice" he begged, "tell my brother where I am." =====

"Where is he?" he advanced on the boy, spirit Dean reminded himself as the figure backed up then disappeared. Swearing, he swung around and tried the girl standing there with the boy now hiding behind her. "Please help me. And then I can help you. You need to tell me where he's taken Sam."

She said nothing but turned to look at the shack. "There's nothing there!" through clenched teeth. But she disagreed and pointed to the thing again and slowly walked away dragging the boy along by the hand. She must have been doing that for over fifty years he realised. That's what he had to work on, her caring for her brother, just like him.

"No. Please don't leave," burying his anger and fright, "Help me find my little brother."

She turned and gave him what he could only think of as an 'I'm not falling for that' expression although with what had happened to her face it could have been anything. "Please," he asked simply. She stayed and just waited.

He began to lose patience again. Sammy needed him and he did not want to know what could be happening to him while he failed to find him. He should not have let him be taken in the first place. He had taken his eyes and his attention off him for a moment and he was gone. He had let him down again. He had to find him.

She cocked her head at him and pointed to the shack once more so he took the 'hint' and moved towards it, pulling off the clinging greenery and, not being able to see through the filthy glass, shattered it with the butt of his gun. He moved to the opening and entering, carefully inspected the place. There was nothing although he had grown to expect it. It would not be that easy. It never was.

He half expected Ruby to suddenly pop up and tell him what an asshole he was and then instruct him in what to do but while he waited for that, he berated himself. He kicked out in frustration at the nearest wall and the whole thing nearly came down on his head but he saw something in the corner and pounced on it in relief. Wherever the bastard had taken Sam, he had made the mistake of leaving their bag to be found. He drew out one of the heavy torches and lit up the place. He searched every inch of the small space finding nothing. No hidden doors or passages.

In frustration more than by design, he began to pull up the floor boards but still no passage or flight of stairs, just dirt. He started to dig not knowing what else to do and found it was just a thin layer of soil over something concrete. Spreading his search he knew he had found something.

Hot and sweaty after half an hour, he had cleared the expanse of floor and inspected every square inch but there was still no entrance but Sam was down there. He knew it, but not how to get to him?

He went outside and looked daggers at the ghosts still stood hand in hand waiting. He started his search afresh. There had to be a way in. Ghosts might be able to go through walls but Sam was no ghost. He would have needed a door. =====

There was a shift in the air and Sam knew he was no longer alone. He was still the only one breathing though as the figure in the plaid shirt moved towards him and the dust was hardly disturbed. He was the only one that had done that recently. He twisted around and wished he had not.

Glummer appeared as he must have in life. He was big. Near as tall as Sam but twice as wide. His clothes were stained and Sam figured he had only ever had a passing relationship with soap and water. The hand that was being stretched out towards him had cracked dirty fingernails and Sam was suddenly very afraid in a way he had never had to be before. =====

Dean knew he was running out of time. That bastard could be doing anything to his brother but he could not afford to dwell on it. He had been searching in a spiral out from the shack and finally had found something. It was well hidden, a cellar like wooden door in the ground under dirt and bushes growing wild. He cleared it and before he went blundering in, retrieved the bag and made sure both guns were loaded and that he had fuel and a means to light it.

Then he was ready and with a final glance at his audience, he pulled up the door and using the torchlight to guide him, descended into who knew what.

It was not a long tunnel and he tried to be as quiet as possible until he came to a door through which he could hear Sam. He did not like that sound. He kicked the door open, raising the gun and although he knew he would see this scene in his nightmares, he had no time to take it all in as he discharged the guns repeatedly as the strength of the spirit Glummer kept him coming back again and again.

Finally there seamed to be a respite and Dean reloaded and surged into the room, his hand to Sam's face, pushing it up. "Hey buddy. You still with me?" and Sam's eyes flickered open to his relief. He looked around with horror at all the bodies, at the shackles holding Sam. He searched wildly but to no avail.

"There." A voice spoke and it was the girl standing in the doorway with her fearful brother peaking out from behind her. He moved at her bidding to a small cupboard on the wall, opening it finding more restraints but also a line of keys hanging from hooks. "Which one?" but he guessed she could not tell him. He picked the cleanest looking one hazarding that if there was dust it had not been used.

He reached up to undo the cuffs, talking all the time to Sam, telling him he would be alright, they would be out of here soon. He could not reach. He cast around desperately for something to stand on.

Noise and pain all at the same time.

The girl screaming, the boy crying and the sound of himself hitting the wall as the key flew from his hand. He landed hard and cursed in revulsion as the body under him splintered. "Son of a bitch!" he tried to stand.

The figure bore down on him and he could not reach either of the guns. He was grabbed by his jacket and with a roar of rage, the ghost flung him across the room to land sprawled on the bed, it sagged under his weight then collapsed completely. He saw the key and grabbed it as Glummer came again.

Suddenly the giant stumbled to the side and he saw Sam swing back barely conscious as if he had used the last of his strength to hold himself up by the chains and kick Glummer. Making the most of the diversion, Dean dived for the nearest gun and blasted the spirit with both barrels then scrambling to his feet, wrenched the small cupboard from the wall, finding the strength in his anger and desperation then used it to stand on and unlock the shackles, catching Sam as he fell.

He knew he had very little time. Easing his brother to the ground, he gritted his teeth against the pain as he tipped the bag up, grabbing the can of gasoline, then salt and spread both around the room. Done and grabbing up Sam, he dragged him from the room then turned and striking the small flare, threw it back into the 'pleasure' dungeon.

By the time he had struggled out of the ground with Sam at his side, the girl was stood with her arms wrapped about her brother, holding him close. Dean fell to hands and knees, Sam lying beside him. He was not sure if he was just imagining it but she seemed to smile at him just before she and her brother dissolved into flame.

He had to get Sam out of here. Glummer was still a threat. He had no idea where his remains were. He just prayed there were some to be found.

"Come on Sammy. Stay awake. Help me out here. Come on." And he dragged Sam to his feet. The shack needed burning too but for now the job was done because Sam was hurt. Again. And barely conscious. He dreaded what had happened to him in the time it had taken to find him. All he knew was it had broken his heart all over again to see him hanging there. But now he had to get him away from here and back to the motel so he could tend to him.

Once more he was dragging, half carrying Sam back out through the woods to the car but this time no one was screaming at or chasing then. Sam was clinging to him with what little strength he had, impeding more than helping. He was tempted just to sling him over his shoulder but as soon as he tired his own body screamed out at him so it was a long slow progress back.

Loading him inside the car, Dean ran around to the drivers side and had to sit Sam up again as he got in. The lad slummed against him so he put his arm around his shoulders and drove carefully back to the motel with his precious cargo. =====

tbc...


	7. Chapter 7

Arriving back at the motel, Dean spoke softly, "Come on, Sammy," gently shaking him awake. Sam's head on his shoulder, he showed no indications of waking up but at least he was just asleep and had not passed out again. "Sammy? Let me get you inside," and shook him again this time getting a response.

Through the door and he guided him to sit at the head of the bed. He was dirty and scratched and it just made him sad yet again. He had had to rescue his little brother yet again. It was his fault that his little brother had gotten hurt… again.

Dean longed for a time he had never really known. That he could only remember vaguely along with his, their, mother's face. He remembered the first time he had seen Sam in the hospital. So small. His mother smiling down at him then up at Dean. "Look Dean. Your new brother." His Father smiling fit to burst, holding his shoulder and pushing him closer so he could meet Sammy.

He longed for a time when they could be safe again. When neither had to protect the other from all the evils of the world. When there would be no more livid colours covering their bodies. When they would not need to tattoo those bodies with symbols to ward off possession. When they would not need to spend all their money on weapons, ammo, salt and bandages.

He yearned for a time when they could have a real home. No more dingy motel rooms with décor a crime against the senses. A time when they could relax and just live. Together.

That would not change. Wherever they ended up, whatever they ended up doing, they would be together. All his dreams, his fantasises involved Sam. If people could watch his fondest daydreams they would either be shocked or disappointed as they always involved the same thing. Breakfast made in his own kitchen, on his own cooker, served up on his own table by Lisa as Sam sat down to eat next to young Ben. It was not much, nothing special but it was what he longed for. A quiet life in a quite little corner of America, in Lawrence perhaps, in a pale blue house with eggs and bacon on the table and classic rock on the radio.

Well of course it was never going to happen. This was as close as he was going to get. Quiet, with him silently tending to Sam. His home. The only one he knew, the only one he had. The only one he needed. His Sam.

And now his Sam needed him again. Holding his brother's face, tilting it up to look at him, his thumb smeared dirt across his cheek and he decided he needed to be clean and tended. "You need a shower, Dude." But Sam just gazed at him, his eyes fighting to stay open without moving from the bed. Dean stood back arms crossed considering. "Fine," and headed off into the bathroom smiling. The sound of running water then he was back and, with laughter in his voice, he called in a sing song, "Sammy. Bath time."

Sam looked up at him sleepily then smiled, "Awe but Dean?"

"Come on Sammy you know you need one."

He laughed affectionately, "I'm not a kid anymore."

"But you still stink."

"I did not smell as a child!" the banter waking him somewhat or, more accurately, keeping him awake.

"Yeah? I was there remember."

Yes, he did. Dean had always been there.

Sam struggled to stand and staggered on unsteady legs and Dean was there once more to catch him, helping him into the bathroom. He was too tired to be embarrassed as Dean undid his jeans and he leant on his shoulder as his brother bent on one knee to remove his shoes then pulled his jeans down and off. A moment's hesitation, then his shorts were removed too. It was kind of cute how Dean looked everywhere but at him as, standing, he helped him into the tub and Sam sank gratefully down into the warm water, hissing as it reached the scratches down his back.

"Dean. Promise me you're not going to scrub all the skin off me like you used to?"

"I did not."

"Oh yes, you did."

"Well…" standing, "I ain't scrubbing anything. You're on your own." He looked around, "Sorry we ain't got any of that fancy smellin' stuff you like so much. This'll have to do," and he threw the small block of motel soap at him.

"Thanks," as the bar hit him. "Could you get me my shampoo though?"

"Sure," and Dean headed back into the room smirking.

By the time he got back, all of two minutes later, Sam was asleep again, the water still running and creeping up to his face. Shaking his head Dean turned off the tap and stood stiffly catching his own reflection over the sink. He too was filthy, covered in soot and stuff he did not want to consider. Well a shower was out and glancing around at the slumbering Sam, decided he was safe enough to have a strip wash.

Taking up Sam's bottle of shampoo, he sniffed at it and with that crooked grin decided, what the heck, and wondered if he'd get the same reaction as they did on the TV advert.

No sudo orgasm later, but he had to admit he smelt much better and proceeded gingerly to scrub himself down.

The place was soaked but he didn't much care as he decided Sam must be pruning by now. He checked that he had not drowned then dropping his towel on the floor, went to get clean shorts and, not finding any, slipped on his one remaining pair of jeans. Guess tomorrow was laundry day then.

"Sam. Wake up." Standing hands on hips. "Sam!" a little louder but still no response. He would have been worried if not for the slight snoring. Sam must have been filthy as the water had bits floating in it. He'd need a shower after all. Dean knelt down ignoring the water seeping into the fabric of his jeans and gently shook Sam awake. "Need to wake up buddy and get washed."

Not with it Sam, slowly sat up rubbing at his face and grimaced. "The waters gone cold."

"Yeah? Well deal." He reached around for the shampoo and squeezed far too much over his 'little' brother laughing. They were grown ups with Sam taller than him now but he suddenly felt young again scooping water over his brother and, laughing, turned the shampoo in to mounds of suds, massaging his head just being egged on by the repeated, "Get off me," as Sam weakly tried to fight his hands away.

Rinsing him off with the plastic beaker from the sink took awhile and his laughter had vanished to be replaced by a thoughtful expression as he proceeded to lather up the thin washcloth and wash across Sam's back and shoulders.

"Dean. I can wash myself."

"Ur huh," and he just carried on, being careful of the scratches. He hated then. What exactly had that Bastard Glummer done to his Sammy? He continued to wash him, his back, his arms, his chest, not really noticing that the complaining had stopped, that Sam had closed his eyes, this time his head swaying slightly in time to the strokes on his body. Dean gently lifted a hand, washing it with care then letting it drop lightly into the water before moving the cloth over Sam's long legs under the water.

Sam relaxed back in the tub feeling good and truly enjoying being washed. This was nothing like it used to be. This was something out of a dream. He moved down wanting the cloth travelling up his leg to continue its progress but Dean chose that moment to speak and break the spell. "That's it. Out of the tub before you fall asleep again." And the plug was pulled.

Sam tried to stand but could not lever himself up and once more needed to rely on his brother's strong body to hold him. "Damn it, Sam!" as he nearly lost him. Dean's plan to get him to sluice off with a shower was not going to work if he could not stand up. The water had drained but left a tide mark around the bath and on Sam. With the amount of scratches he had, Dean wanted him clean. He stood and switched on the shower but it was not powerful enough to cover the tub.

Swearing again, there was only one thing for it and, grabbing him under the arms, through gritted teeth told him. "Come on. Help me here. Stand up." And together they managed to get Sam stood under the hot jets with Dean stood behind him holding him up. 'Great Dean you've really thought this one through', he berated himself as he braced himself with Sam's weight leaning back on him as he stood there with his face squashed against Sam's back and his jeans becoming saturated.

The hot water stung Sam's face and shoulders and he 'awoke' from his fugue state realizing he was stood in a shower with Deans arms wrapped around him holding him up. Bizarre was not the word for it but he could think of no other. He grabbed hold of the shower unit hoping it would not come off the wall and managed to stand by his own power, his other hand braced against the wall.

Dean noticed the difference and let go of him, stepping back slightly but ready to catch him again if he should fall. He watched waiting but found his eyes drawn to the water running over Sam's shoulders and down his back. He followed the course downwards and over the tight ass then watched as the last of the grime was washed away. As Sam was rinsed clean, Dean found his fingers reaching out to touch him just between his shoulder blades and slowly travel down alone his spine to the hollow of his back.

Sam felt his knees go weak once more and held on desperately to the wall as it was nothing to do with being injured or tired. Could it really be that his brother might harbour the same kind of thoughts that he had found himself having? He dared not move. He did not want the fingers to stop touching him. He did not want Dean to stop touching him.

A hand on his hip and he felt Dean lean against him as a hand came around and turned off the shower. He could feel Dean's breath on his shoulder and leant back ever so slightly, his eyes closed, biting down on his bottom lip as, with everything he had, he wished Dean would hold him, surround him and, touch him.

"Come on, Sammy. Time to dry off," low in his ear. And Dean stepped out of the tub holding onto Sam's arm, pulling him with him. He could not look him in the eye even if Sam had not turned his face away. He grabbed the towel off the rail and was going to hand it to Sam and leave then Sam's shoulder blades were moving and a runnel of water between them made him suck in his breath and wince.

Sam dared not turn around. There was no way he was going to let Dean see the affect he had had on him. He would never live it down. He dropped his head and now wished to be alone. He turned his head slightly, listening for the tell tale noises of Dean's retreat but instead felt the towel touch the nape of his neck and slowly, gently rub across to a shoulder then back. He let Dean continue but everything in him wanted to turn around and to grab hold of him. To hold on to him and never, ever, let go.

Dean continued drying Sam's neck but a rivulet of water kept running down from the dark hair and he found himself fascinated. He would watch it track down over the reddening skin then dry it again. He did not know how long he would have continued if Sam had not turned to look at him, twisting at the waist. He glanced up mutely to see the answering expression.

That was it. Sam could not take it any longer with that look in those clear green eyes as Dean stood there silently gazing up at him. Sam finally turned completely around and lifting his hands cradled Dean's head, pulling him close and kissed him. Full on the mouth, no more hesitating, no more wondering, he demanded.

And Dean responded. As Sam kissed him, he kissed Sam. As Sam's tongue sort and found entry, he met him force for force and he let himself be captured and held as Sam's arms moved to hold across his back. Straight away he knew who was in command here and after watching over Sam for all this time, after always taking charge and telling him what to do, he gave it all up in this instant and would follow his younger brother wherever he wanted to take him.

A hand in his hair pulling his head back and to the side none too gently and Dean closed his eyes, licking his lips as Sam kissed his neck, his throat, then bit at that place below his ear which had gotten so much attention before. Then he had ended the contact but not now, only, Sam held him too tight on his side and it hurt. "Sammy, please," he pleaded. All he got was a groaned out "Dean" as Sam swung him around and pushed him back against the wall.

He gasped out as pain shot up and down his side and he pushed at Sam hands on his shoulders. "Please, Sam. Stop.!" Half an hour ago he was weak as a kitten, now he was pushing him into walls!

The last thing Sam wanted to do was stop. He had Dean in his arms, kissing him, holding him, way beyond any imaginings he'd had. He dragged himself away to stand leaning on the wall, palms on either side of Dean's chest and stared up at him hard from under brows, his breathing causing his chest and shoulders to rise and fall at the effort of stopping, of not just carrying on no matter what Dean wanted.

Dean had never seen that look on Sam's face before, the eyes were fierce. It turned him on big time, it was so full of lust and it was all aimed at him. He put fingers to Sam's face, a thumb rubbing across his lips. He studied his mouth and suddenly knew what he wanted. His thumb dipped inside and he pushed further, watching as Sam gently bit down on it, his tongue coming into play and Dean was as hard as he had ever been.

His hips came forwards and he spoke in a voice heavy with longing, "Please, Sam. Be careful." Sam gave no response other than closing his mouth and he began to suck on Dean's thumb making him push himself onto Sam. He spoke again before he lost the ability. "Sam just please be gen…careful with me. My side, you were hurting my side."

Sam blinked and the look Dean had relished fled from his face. He stood back pulling Dean's hand away from his mouth but held onto it as he looked concerned down at the bruising. How could he have forgotten so easily? Shaking his head, "Dean. I'm so sorry. I don't want to.."

He was not allowed to finish as Dean pulled his head down, kissing him with strength and passion. He wanted that look back on Sam's face, not a concerned one and he wanted those large hands on him. Breaking back he whispered, "Just be careful. This time," and gave Sam his best lusty grin.

He was rocked back to the wall and hands were at his waist, unfastening the cold clammy jeans which he thought should be steaming considering how hot he felt. Sam kissed him again and Dean met him as hands entered his pants and, circling on to his hips, pushed down, freeing him from the confines of wet denim. His tongue surged into Sam's mouth, one hand thrusting into his hair pulling his head forwards, the other travelling down his back to grasp his brother's arse, so firm and tight in his grip.

Sam had thought that Dean was calling a halt to this when he had spoken. But now Dean was as hard as he had made him, starting with that single touch to his spine. His hands were still on Dean's hips and he pulled them to meet his own, shifting and rubbing. He could hardly breathe. Dragging his lips away, he leant his forehead on Dean's and paused, just breathing in the essence of him and felt rather than saw that grin appear again.

Hand still in his hair, Dean pulled Sam's head back wanting to see that expression again. He was right, it was back and eyes dropping to that mouth, he encouraged his head down. Sam smiled, he got the hint but was going to take his time. He was going to enjoy the journey. He kissed just beside Dean's mouth then moved to his jaw, under his ear and down his neck. His mouth opened and closed on Dean's skin, sucking, nipping, licking and biting his way down, across a shoulder then in towards a nipple, hard and erect under his tongue.

Hand remaining in Sam's hair, Dean had to relinquish his hold on that ass as Sam descended to crouch on the wet floor before him. His mouth was dragging across Dean's stomach then a tongue licking down his middle to circle his navel. His hips were pulled even further forwards as Sam spent time sucking on his belly, tongue now playing in the line of hairs, his chin and cheek lightly catching on Dean's very attentive prick.

His shoulders pushing into the wall, Dean held onto the sink with his free hand for support as he felt himself falling. It was not physical but he was falling none the less. His hand clenched in Sam's hair. His brother was teasing him so badly, his hands on the back of his legs now, holding tight to one of the few places that did not hurt, fingers spread pressing up into his butt. He thrust forwards as he could not take this much longer.

Leaving one hand clasping a leg, Sam dragged the other around and very gently touched Dean's ball sack causing him to lurch, practically knocking him over and, taking mercy on him, Sam knelt ignoring the cold of the wet towel and floor and finally took him inside past his lips and closed his mouth around Dean's prick.

This feeling, Dean could not believe it was coming from someone who over the years had engendered companionship, frustration, impatience, love, sacrifice, jealousy, exasperation, hatred, friendship, comfort and all the other things that only a blood relation could cause and was now bringing him off in this so intimate way. Sam's long fingers were wrapped around the base of his prick as his mouth held him so tightly, sucking him in the hot moistness.

Dean so wanted to thrust in, for Sam to take him all, but in the last few moments that he could, he thought that Sam probably did not know how to do that. Then Dean could think no longer as Sam seriously went to work on him until he came shuddering, collapsing back against the wall, Sam moving with him, not letting up, still sucking him, stripping him then went back to sucking on his belly, fingers holding his spent prick lightly.

"Dean?"

"Umm?"

"Can you let go of my hair now? I'd like to keep some of it attached to my head."

Dean looked down into the smiling face as he realised Sam's hair was still clutched tightly in his fist. He let go and Sam was immediately leaning against him, once more kissing the breath out of his body. Sam's prick was hard, pushing against him and Dean knew he would have to reciprocate but was reluctant. He was not sure that he could do for Sam what he had just done for him. But right now he was still enjoying the aftermath and the feel of Sam pressed against the length of his sensitized body, his lips moving on his own with that hot tongue tasting of himself.

Dean's hands were loosely resting on his hips as Sam pushed against him. He would not stop kissing him. He did not want Sam to stop kissing him and that prick was so hard against his hip. Dean moved a hand and forced it between them to stroke down the length then back up to the engorged head.

The action stopped the kiss as Sam breathed into his ear. "Please, Dean." Sam pushed further into the hold on his cock. Again in Dean's ear, "Please. I want …I want to be inside you."

Dean stilled breathing shallowly, nervously and took time to look Sam in the eye. His hands both came up and around to lie flat on Sam's surprisingly broad chest, pushing him back slightly then he let his head drop.

Sam kissed him on the cheekbone facing him and put fingers to that place, on his brother's jaw below his ear, that he loved and waited though it was torturing him. After a seeming eternity, Dean asked, "You …. want to move to the bed?" sounding meeker than Sam thought he had ever heard him before.

Sam did not want to let him go, he wanted him now and thought that that question had been permission enough. He tilted Dean's face up and kissed him once more then hands on shoulders, gently encouraged him to turn. He had forgotten the jeans and quickly bent to get his feet out of them then stood breathing deeply and, savouring the look of uncertainty on the freckled face, turned Dean to the wall, moving up behind him, wrapping his arms around the solid torso, one hand up to his neck, one pressing down onto his belly.

Sam was kissing his neck, his shoulder and Dean covered the hands with his own. He closed his eyes telling himself that this was fine, that he would be okay. Sam was leading the way and that was good for he knew he would not hurt him but he just hoped that his little brother knew what he was doing or else he was sure this would be painful. But no more time for thoughts as he felt Sam moving against him, the hand sliding from his belly.

Dean leant his forehead on the cool wall, hands going up to press either side as he heard the tap run briefly then soapy fingers were feeling, then rubbing at his arse hole. The hand left his neck to surround his chest as he felt the first tentative intrusion. It was Dean's turn to bite at a lip as a finger gently but insistently pushed at his rim, stilled then found its way past the tightness. He needed Sam's arm around him to hold him up as the action was making him weak. The finger was moving, massaging inside of him and he pushed out backwards at the inclusion of a second finger stretching him, readying him, his breathing shallow and nervous.

Dean had stilled, wrapped in his arm. Sam kissed the nape of his neck then licked at an ear making him moan a little as he stretched him with his fingers. He pulled them out and quickly, not being able to wait any longer, lined himself up and, the tip of his weeping cock pressing against the reddened entrance, he pushed in.

Dean's groan was echoed by one of his own as Sam stilled waiting then he pushed in as far as he could, his other hand now also wrapped around Dean with hand on his shoulder and Sam pulled Dean back against him. He had dared to dream of this but it was nothing close to the real thing, he could never have imagined just what it was to feel himself embedded within Dean. To feel his firm body pushing back against him, to hear his brother moaning in such a way.

Dean had never dreamt that he would experience anything like this. That he would ever want to have some man fuck him and certainly not Sammy who pushed into him again, practically lifting him from his feet. He leant an arm on the wall and pressed his check against it, his other hand reaching up to hold on to Sam's arm crossing his chest.

Sam was kissing him again and Dean was glad. He did not think now that he would ever be able to get enough of Sam kissing him. He was so damned good at it. At all of this, the way he was making him feel, the way he was getting him to do this, to get him to let him fuck him in the arse and to enjoy it. And he was, his prick becoming harder with each thrust and he pushed Sam's arm down, pushed his large hand onto his prick and immediately Sam knew what he wanted.

How did Sammy know how to do all this stuff? Dean was being filled up from behind, the thrusts getting quicker, reaching places that were making his whole body react, rocking him and Sam's hand was holding him just right, as he was pushed, he pushed into that encircling grip. Another kiss to his shoulder, a bite, then Sam's face was next to his, his breath on his cheek, his lips.

Sam shifted them both, his free hand moving to hold onto the back of Dean's shoulder and then he thrust deeper, harder feeling his brother lift onto the balls of his feat then push back onto him. He wanted to continue for ever, the heat around him, the resistance, all making him want to get even deeper, to be inside Dean forever, to be with him always, to be one with him The feeling was overwhelming both physically and emotionally. And for that brief moment, the intensity building as if it would never end but just consume him, Sam knew it was possible that they were one and this would not end. Then he came so hard it tore a groan from the depths of his soul, holding onto Dean so tightly that he left bruises of his own.

Brief pain as Sam's hand held his prick just too tight for that instance that he felt himself filled then, as the hand left him to clutch hard at his hip, Dean too felt the release as if Sam had been holding him in. His breathing was harsh gasps, his hands clutching at cold tile either side of his face and still Sam had him tight, pinned to the wall then another thrust as Sam held his breath then let it go. Let it all go as he collapsed, leaning on Dean, slipping from him and causing him to shudder and spill his last but not letting him go. Never letting him go. Not now, not ever. Dean had always belonged to Sam. Dean had known that from the first time he had looked down at him in the hospital. Maybe now Sam would know it too.

Sam could have stayed like this, with the feel of the firm body once more wrapped in his arms warm against his skin, his lips pressing into his brother's neck but cold was intruding. He shifted slightly, his foot touching a sopping wet towel. It brought him back. He stood straight, releasing his brother but still would not let go. His hands slid down Dean's sides, holding him gently now by the hips. Sam saw the discolouration on his brother's body afresh and Dean was still leaning, palms against the wall, breathing deeply but silent and still. He worried then that he had hurt him, that this had not been for Dean as it had been for himself.

For Sam it had been wonderful, more than he had imagined, more than he could have hoped for and now, afterwards, he felt at peace for the first time in so long. He felt contented. But Dean had not moved. He tightened his grip on his hips and spoke his name softly. Dean just ducked his head. Now he really worried. "Dean? What's wrong? Are you okay?"

Yes. No. He didn't know. Yes because Sam had done things to him that had made him forget everything except the feel of his body against him, had held him. He held on to him so tightly that Dean knew he was needed, that Sam had needed him so much and in a way that was new. And no, because he was sure what they had just done was so wrong, in so many ways, but it had felt so right, so natural for them, for him to let Sam have his way. But he needed something for himself now.

A hand moved up his back into his hair and Dean sighed, his head turning as he turned and without looking at him, not wanting Sam to see his face, he embraced him, hugging him and buried his face in Sam's neck then held on to him as if to life. But then, Sam was his life.

Sam continued to play in Dean's hair, holding him as he was held but tried to see his face but Dean would not allow it. Every move he made to encourage Dean to look at him, to speak to him was ignored as he just continued to push his face into his neck so Sam just held him, fingers stroking the nape of his neck, rubbing through the short but soft hair and rested his cheek on top of Dean's head. But he was cold.

It was seeping up from the floor. Sam's own hair still wet, his body still wet and now the adrenalin had been used and the added sweat was cooling on his body, he could not help but shiver. He noted that Dean too was shivering. "Come on," Sam spoke tenderly into his ear, "Let's get into bed." And he just hoped that Dean's reluctance to speak to him, to even look at him was not a sign that this had been a mistake, that Dean was not regretting what they had done. He clung to the thought that Dean was clinging to him, so surely it would be okay, they would be okay?

Dean let Sam led him from the bathroom, by the hand, as he silently followed. This was so surreal. Sam was leading him, Sam was the one that was bending to pull back the covers on the bed and it was Sam that guided him in then stood there looking down at him. Damn. What was wrong? Why wasn't he getting in with him?

He could not stand this. This was not him. Dean Winchester did not act like this. He was the one that took control. He was the one that had to constantly watch over the other. It was Dean that always made the final decision if Sam liked it or not. What had Sam done to him? But he guessed he knew.

Sam had always needed him, to care for him, to teach him, to comfort him and to be there for him all their lives. As they had gotten older and Sam had become much more adept at fending for himself, had learnt to fight and recently, since his 'return' had been becoming much harder, stronger and needed Dean less and less. And although it was true that he had had to rescue Sam from that shack today, it was also true that if it was not for Dean, he would not have been there in the first place to need rescuing. Sam was having to become independent because his older brother was becoming a liability. Soon Sam would be on his own. They knew it and Sam was clinging on and letting Dean become his weakness. Sam had always been Dean's.

Now Dean too was clinging on. He had let Sam take control of him against his nature because he obviously wanted him and whatever Sam wanted he got because that way Dean was still useful. Sam still needed him. A different way, a different need, but he still needed him and that was all Dean was here for. He had always only been here for Sam. From the moment the baby had looked at him he had been caught but then their father had put him in his arms charging him to watch out for him and that was it.

But now he needed. Dean wanted and Sam was just looking at him. Why could his brother not know what he needed? It was such a simple thing, he thought he would have done it without thinking about it.

Sam did not like this one bit. There was something happening here he was uncertain of. Dean never acted like this. Looking at his attitude now, he was on his side, leaning on a bent arm, watching as the fingers of his left hand played with his ring.

Sam could not help but look down the length of him until his knees disappeared under the covers. From this angle he looked perfect. He was, but Sam was so aware of the discolouration that marred his skin. He hated that one, or both of them, was always getting injured but that was the life they led. It was the kind of life that had brought them to this place where he was afraid that he had made his brother do something that he regretted. Dean looked like he was ashamed and he shouldn't be because, as usual, it was all his fault. Sam's fault.

He sat on the bed, fingers stroking across Dean's cheek and he was about to say something about being to blame, that he would never ask him to do anything like this again, when Dean finally looked up at him. The look stole Sam's breath. He saw in that look everything that they had ever meant to each other and a longing, a yearning that made his throat tighten and his core weep. He swung his body around, sliding into the bed next to him and then he was on Dean, kissing him as if it was what he needed to be able to breathe, what he needed to live. =====

tbc...


	8. Chapter 8

He smiled, he could not stop smiling. Sam's face ached as he had done nothing but smile for what felt like hours. He loved the way that Dean was sat there so embarrassed because he would not stop smiling at him. He had told him to stop, he had threatened him but all to no avail. Sam just could not stop smiling.

Sam was being ridiculous and if he did not stop soon he was going to have to do something to wipe that damn smile off his brother's face. They were in public for crying out loud, sat in a diner! Dean shook his head and called him butt breath but with no venom and then just laughed rubbing a hand through his hair as he sat back and grinned in return. But they still had unfinished business and he wanted to get it over and done with so they could move on. "The only thing I can think to do is see if we can track down anyone from the Sheriff's office from those days."

"It was over fifty years ago," Sam warned.

"There's a chance." And he shrugged his shoulders then stretched his arms out on the back of the booth trying to get comfortable. How long, he wondered, until he got over these injuries and would he have time before he acquired more? "We should start with the names in those newspaper articles you found."

Sam picked up his computer and opened it up on the table as Dean was obviously not in a mood to flirt with him. "Well, I started a search night before last and the only one I could find was a Deputy Harris. He's in the Clover Nursing Home here in town. Must be at least eighty surely?"

"Let's go find out." Dean said. =======

It was easy to get past the reception desk at the Home and they did not have to come up with an elaborate cover. They just asked to see the former deputy and he said sure. It was as if the people in this place were desperate for any visitor. It made Dean eminently sad. It would never be a problem for them though. With their kind of life there was slim chance of lasting long enough to be shunted off to a dismal place like this. It smelt of old people as soon as you walked through the door.

The thick set nurse whittered away as she led them down corridor after corridor all painted the same off white, their shoes squeaking on the linoleum and Dean felt himself get increasingly disheartened, not just at the whole atmosphere but at the frank unlikelihood that anyone living in this limbo between the world outside and a coffin could be any use to them.

There was a sudden explosion of laughter from a nearby room, shocking in the apathy of the place. "Here we are," the woman said pointing them into the room. "In you go. Don't let him wear you out." She grinned as she left them.

The brothers looked at each other bewildered then entered a room that looked more like a hunting lodge. Obviously the residents had a free rein on the décor side. There were stuffed animals everywhere, mounted on the walls along side the weapons that had no doubt dispatched the poor unfortunate creatures.

To say that they both stood there stunned was an understatement. "Come in. Come in," encouraged the senior, waving an arm magnanimously. He must have been a bear of a man in his prime and was still robust now and standing to greet them. His handshake was firm and Dean could not help but smile as he was practically pushed into an overstuffed armchair and a glass shoved into his hand. Similarly Sam sniffed at his drink then looking across at his brother pulled a, 'do you believe this' expression, placing the glass down on a small table cluttered with magazines and candy wrappers.

"Mr Harris,.." Sam opened to be gruffly but affably corrected.

"Tim. Please."

"Tim. We're sorry to bother you, but.."

"Nonsense. It's nice to have you young fellas visitin'. Ain't that right Earl?" turning to the man emerging from what must be the bathroom as he was still in the process of doing up his flies then looked up startled as three pairs of eyes met him. "Don't mind him," Harris told them in a loud stage whisper, "His bladder ain't worked right in years."

Sam looked embarrassed and Dean began to feel charmed by the gruff demeanour. Poor Earl just let forth a stream of invective then shambled out of the room leaving laughter in his wake. "He's getting old you know. Eighty four and doesn't look a day over a hundred," and he knocked back a good portion of Whisky. It was ten thirty in the morning.

Dean laughed, looking at the figure that appeared to be about the same. "We wondered if you could help us. We're trying to find out about what happened to a man named Glummer. He disappeared in the fif…"

Harris' jovial buffoonery disappeared as if they had flicked a switch. Sourly he fixed Dean with a mean eye. "And why would you want to know about that Bastard?"

"We're doing research on the history of the area and his name keeps cropping up," Sam interjected.

"How? No one talks about him," continuing to stare at Dean.

"There are still disappearances going on in the same area and a couple of people have even cast the blame at his door." Sam tried for a light tone as if he thought it ridiculous, "They say his ghost still haunts the woods." He was going to continue but stopped speaking as the man was still staring at Dean as if he was the only one in the room. It was making both brothers uncomfortable.

The old man studied the elder sibling and nodding, came to a decision. "You've seen them haven't you?"

"Who?" asked Sam.

Slowly Harris swung to look at him and involuntarily Sam sat back as far away as he could without getting up. "I wasn't talking to you!" And his attention went back to Dean who was looking puzzled if not a bit apprehensive at the hostility towards Sam. "Well boy? You seen them or ain't you."

"Who?" although he had a strong inkling.

"The girl and her brother o' course. I can see it in your eyes. You've seen things. The kinda things most people only see in their nightmares." Then the old man just sat waiting.

Dean knocked back the glass of Whisky that he had been turning steadily in his hands and dropped his head, slumping forwards, elbows on knees. He had a flash of entering that room and seeing Sammy hanging there with that bastard stood so close to him, a hand on his belly. There had been fresh scratches down Sam's back, nail marks on his hips and buttocks, his pants open and hanging low off his hips. Sam had not only been abducted but Dean knew that he had been 'touched'. Sam had not spoken of it and he could not bring himself to ask. He just prayed that that was all it had been, just touched.

Dean looked up at the old man and held out his glass. He had weighed him up somewhat and as Harris poured amber liquid he said flatly, "I saw 'him' too."

The man nodded. "Thought so."

There was silence as they all mulled over their own thoughts.

Sam, disturbed by his thoughts and not wanting to dwell on them, looked from one to the other of the men sat in the quiet room with him. In some ways it was as if he was looking at the same person some fifty years apart. They both had the same knowing expression that life was more often hard, filled with pain and lose along the way but also he recognised in the old man the same determination that Dean had. The retired lawman was a fighter, and he had never lain back and let life beat him. He realised that the man had begun to speak frankly and succinctly.

"The girl and boy had been missing for near a week. We searched everywhere, starting from the route they should have taken to their Grandma's. Then we spread out. No sign. No proof but everyone kept whispering it then saying it. It was him. The big bastard that lived out near the woods. He was a loner but that wasn't why. Sheriff Gray had thought him responsible for the disappearance of a young mother the year before but couldn't prove it. She'd been seen not far from her house then never again but he had been in town that day. Didn't happen often.

"No proof but a feeling. We raided his place several times but could find nothing and after near a week we were sure that it was way too late. We all went out on one more search. Me, Sheriff Gray, Deputies Bull, Gordon and a few friends of Gray's that acted as fire men in them days. We came across Glummer, out by that old shack of his at the back of his place and he.." a gulp of whisky then fingers back to playing with the glass as he watched as the brothers watch him, "he had blood on him. On his hands. His mouth. Bull started shouting, demanding what he had done with the children. He shouldn't have been there. They were his sister's young'uns. Glummer sneered back and without a word you knew he was telling us to fuck off, excuse the language. And Bull hit him. Hit him with the butt of his riffle.

"Of course he hit back. He was a mountain of a man and Jerry went down and it all happened real fast after that." He paused, looking up at Dean and became silent with almost tears in his eyes. They all knew there was to be no happy ending and he was reluctant to continue.

"Please. We need to know what happened to him." There was a pleading in his voice as Dean moved forwards on the chair offering mute support and confidentiality.

Harris sighed and rubbed at his nose, sitting straighter. He had started so he might as well finish. This one across from him had seen, possibly done just as bad a thing. It was written there for anyone who knew what to look for or cared to. "We beat him. Beat him bad. It was as if something primeval over took us. Me as well. I'm just as guilty as the others there. We kept on beating him, who knows how long after he was dead.

"Exhaustion finally stopped us I think. It was one of the worst moments of my life as we stood there in a circle, looking at each other. Seeing the blood splattered on our clothes, on our faces. Young Burns threw up. We knew that, in that few minutes, we had become animals as bad, if not worse, than what we suspected Glummer of. And also we knew that we were never going to find that boy and girl."

The tragedy of it, Dean thought, as they had been so close, mere yards away in that awful dungeon under their feet. He put a hand out and tentively pressed the back of the silent old man's hand. He looked up at the contact, a sad resigned smile on his lips. "I just pray that they were already dead and that we didn't leave them trapped somewhere." But both Sam and Dean knew that that was exactly what they had done.

"They're at peace now," Dean told the former deputy softly making Sam want to hold him right then and there for his damned big beautiful heart.

"Damn." Harris pulled himself together, refilling all three glasses, even Sam's untouched one.

At least he had acknowledge his existence, Sam thought a bit petulantly, he wasn't invisible after all. Then chided himself. It was only because the man had so obviously found a kindred spirit in his bother, still, he could feel the green eyed monster of jealously in his belly, ridiculous though it was. He wanted this over with. He wanted to know what they had come for and to take Dean away, to keep him to himself. That quality that he had so admired but a moment ago was for him, no one else. Sam did not like to share.

Harris started speaking again drawing Sam's attention back to what it should be focused on. "I'm not too sure about that. They've been seen. I've seen them. They don't look peaceful to me." And he turned angry but who at was unclear.

"Trust me," Dean said, leaning forwards once more. "They're at peace. Sammy and me, we made sure of it."

Harris looked sideways at him trying to decide if he was taking the piss but nodded his understanding. There was no guile in the young man's face, his eyes were clear and earnest and he thought he could see that indefatigable something that made him an honest man. "So its over?" he did not need to say he believed there was something strange here, that he believed as did others that Glummer was somehow still taking people.

"No. We have to know where you buried him."

"Why?"

Dean looked uncomfortably at Sam almost asking permission to explain. "My kid brother here and me. We know how to stop him. He's still here. Still dangerous." He thought of all his bruising and had to refrain from wincing, thinking of Sam hanging from that ceiling. "But we need his remains. We have to destroy them."

"And that will destroy his….ghost?"

"Manifestation," Sam corrected unthinkingly.

"Yes," Dean quickly added, "He won't be able to hurt anyone ever again." And could not help but turn to look at his brother, his eyes so full of regret that he had allowed him to be.

"It was not your fault," Sam whispered to him but knew it was useless. Dean would always feel responsible for him, to him.

"Directly opposite the window in that shack there's a tree. He's at the base of that tree."

"Thankyou," they said in unison whilst standing.

"Don't be offended but, once you've done whatever it is you're gonna do, don't come back." He looked as if he was feeling every one of those eighty or so years.

So without another word, they left to find their way out of the maze of nursing home even more depressing now as the laughter had fled with their arrival. Dean prayed that it would return one day soon. Before it was gone forever. =====


	9. Chapter 9

It was hard work. The tree had grown a considerable amount in the last half century. They had been certain they would be able to salt and burn the remains with plenty of daylight hours remaining but that was looking less and less likely. They were sure that Glummer was not just a night time apparition so, as one dug and cursed in amongst the trees numerous and twisted roots, one stood guard, watching.

They had talked at first about the old people's home and had promised each other that they would never do that to the other whilst neither admitted they were unlikely to be around that long. No matter what or who, human nature was pretty predictable. Even if you knew you were going to die and when, it was never a reality, it was always a distant possibility until the last breath.

And as he dug, the ricochet of hitting yet another solid root travelling up the shovel to his shoulders, Dean thought about such things. He had many reasons to want to live, not least that he did not want to die but now even more so as he wanted to be around for Sammy. The man needed his companionship, friendship and protection but also now that he had 'allowed', was that really the right word? Sam such closeness with him, intimacy, had allowed his brother to fuck, him he did not want to die because he had given Sam yet another reason to miss him. Dean had made it all so much worse because Sam obviously wanted him in that way and had possibly for a while now and, going through with the 'love making', he had given him a taste of something that he would come to miss.

He smiled to himself at his turn of phrase. Love making. There had been very little of that. No soft clinches or whispered endearments. It had been hard and fast and, passionate. That was the word he felt summed up the experience best, passionate. Once Sam had practically thrown himself on top of him in that bed, he had not let up until Dean had been aching, gasping for breath and could feel Sam on and in every part of him.

As he plunged his boot down onto the shovel forcing it into the earth once more, a soreness pulled inside him and he smiled afresh as it was as if Sam had left his presence to be felt. The remembrance of friction, fulfilment and that passion, caused pressure in his groin. Inconvenient but he was certain that once they were done here, Sam would take care of him. He carried on digging, a secret smile hidden as, his back to his brother, he knew he was being watched as well as the surrounding woodland.

Concentrate, damn it! Watch out for the bastard spirit that had put his disgusting hands on you and not where you want to put yours. Sam berated himself, turning away slightly and looking around them at the trees and the spaces in between. The closer they got to darkness, and the closer they got to finding what was left of Glummer, the more was the likelihood that it would turn up and neither brother needed any more convincing that he was brutally dangerous.

But the sight of the muscles moving under that skin as he worked the shovel! Had Dean taken his shirt then t-shirt off because he was hot or so Sam could watch him? If it was the later they had a serious problem because it could only mean that Dean wanted to distract Sam and Sam was distracted and that made their predicament all the more dangerous. Just look at that butt as he pushed down on the shovel.

It had become obvious to Sam in the bathroom that what he felt for Dean had changed. Of course he loved him, needed him and all that, which he already knew but he had discovered a great deal of ,well, plain old lust too. It was not just a longing for comfort, succour and closeness anymore. He wanted to fuck him and he wanted to do it now, here in that hole that Dean was digging so 'forcefully', wanted to take him right up against that tree even with the bones sticking out. Hang on.

"Dean. You've done it. You've found him," and that was the cue for seeing the axe descending. He threw himself to the side, landing on his back as the shotgun retort echoed around the small clearing.

"Watch for him, Sam!" as Dean frantically started digging with his hands, clearing away the soil and exposing a skull, bones and not much else the body having been there for so long. Another blast and he uncovered more. He suddenly found himself in a race, him to finish off Glummer against Glummer killing him and taking Sammy. He was certain that was the freaks plan. He unearthed more, not caring at the damage to his nails his hands snagging on bits of roots. He was determined now that the only one that was going to be taking Sam Winchester in any way, shape or form was Dean Winchester.

Back on his feet, Sam scanned the surroundings and, hearing a slight noise, managed to turn just in time, the gun firing and dispelling the figure yet again. He could not remember ever having so much trouble with a spirit before but his wonderings on how it was so strong were torn away as Glummer appeared right over Dean and he had not had time to reload. He threw himself at the figure, knocking him off balance as his arms holding that phantom, yet so solid, axe had been raised preparing the death strike on his brother.

It felt like he had rammed into a wall, the spirit just a solid mass that immediately wrestled him around. The breath left him in a whoosh as the figure knelt on his chest and he pleaded silently for Dean to hurry as a fist descended towards his face. A screamed "Sammy!" and the figure disappeared as Dean shot it but almost immediately it was back, this time dragging Sam along the ground, hands grabbing at his jacket catching the flesh on his arms in a vice.

Dean went to follow to fight to get his brother back but Sam was yelling. "Burn the bastard!" as he struggled within the grip. Quickly Dean turned, not wanting to lose sight of him but grabbed the pack of salt then the canister of gasoline and searching wildly for his shirt, damn he should not have taken it off, grabbing it from the ground, practically tore off the pocket to gain the lighter. He swore a curse at the remains of Glummer and threw the lighter on top of them.

Turning, running after his struggling, screaming brother Dean caught up to see Sam be picked up and carried off around the side off the shack. Damn, it was strong. He cornered the 'building' just in time to see Glummer finally be engulfed in flames and for Sam to slam painfully onto the ground. He rushed over fearful that somehow the fire would set light to Sam but as he reached him Sam was just a crumpled heap breathing heavily staring up at him. "Tell me he's gone. Dean! Please, tell me the bastards gone this time!"

He smiled down at him, "Yep." And extending a hand, pulled Sam to his feet, holding him until he was steady then grabbed him up in a bear hug. "Damn bro'! When you gonna stop being abducted?" and kissed the side of his face. "I'm getting' way too old to keep pickin' up your sorry ass!" and then just held him.

"I..ca…n't…breath!" pushing futilely at Dean's hands on his sides, face squashed against the others. An extra squeeze and Sam was released to stand dragging in air, hands on knees, looking up through his fringe at the manically grinning, dirt covered, sweat soaked, half naked figure before him. A few more lung's full of air and still on the adrenalin high, high on the charge from surviving yet another perilous situation, high on being here and alive, his expression changed for an instant and it was the only warning Dean got as Sam went for him.

It was that look again, so full of want, lust and desire that had Dean's prick hardening before he even hit the ground, Sam covering him, all over him, pinning him down as his brother pushed his arms over his head, holding them there as he ground onto him, his mouth captured and forced open by the pressure of Sam's lips, of his tongue pushing, surging in to find his own at the slightest opening. Dean's body thrust up into Sam then collapsed back to the hard earth he hardly felt as his legs were opening and coming up to surround the slim hips.

One hand still holding Dean's arms crossed above him, causing his torso to stretch and to lift up to him, Sam used his other to fumble then undo his own pants then kneeling back he raised a finger in command, "Stay," as Dean had moved to sit up and Sam grinned wickedly as he complied, lying back down. Sam watched him breathe, his chest rising and falling and wondered if his heart was beating as rapidly as his own.

He placed a palm over Dean's ribcage and yes, could sense his heart pounding beneath the surface. Dean was staring up at him, uncertain, impatient, anxious and begging all at once then his breath was sucked in and his body rose up as Sam slowly trailed his fingers down his stomach, along his belly to grasp at the fastening of his jeans. Sam considered a moment, then biting at his lower lip, enjoying the almost pained anticipation on Dean's face, had the man's jeans opened and pulled down to his boots and pushing his own down was immediately on him again.

Dean had never thought of himself as submissive but guessed he was as this was right, him being trapped, naked beneath a fully clothed Sam. The only part of him with no barrier was his hard prick pressing against his own making him want to pull his legs up and surround him but his ankles were 'tied' by his jeans, trapped underneath Sam's so long legs. Once more he brought his hands down, holding onto Sam's shoulders as the man kissed him on his jaw and all around his neck.

Sam pushed himself up to lean on tense arms, pushing himself onto Dean and as his brother came up with him, used one hand to knock him back. He slammed his brother's arms back over his head losing patience with him and stared into his eyes, face fixed but silently telling him to stay, then went back to tasting under that jaw, biting his neck, moving his hips pushing down possibly painfully on him. Sam was in no mood to be affectionate. He wanted to devour, to ravish.

The pressure on Dean was immense and Sam seemed, he did not want to think possessed as they knew the true meaning of the word but certainly, obsessed. He gave in and lay in the position Sam had last placed him and though he would have preferred to be someway involved in this, let his breath out and succumbed to the sensations that were basically being forced onto his flesh. He stretched himself as Sam's mouth moved over his chest, hissing as he captured and mauled a nipple forcing him to push his whole body upwards causing Sam to move.

There were spit covered fingers at his arsehole, one immediately pushing in giving him scant time to relax around it and he knew then that if he had thought before he could still feel Sam's presence, after this there would be no doubt. He was gasping as in no time at all long fingers were stretching him.

He was uncomfortable with this and not just physically but it was obviously what Sam wanted. His breathing, his actions, his continued kissing sucking of anywhere his mouth could taste him told Dean just how much Sam was consumed by him, wanted him. Needed him. He would not deny him. He felt compelled.

Enough. Sam pulled out his fingers and moved his hands, supporting him either side of Dean's waist and briefly noticed him draw his legs up now he was able and it just made it easier for Sam to line himself up and slowly, oh so slowly, begin to push himself into Dean's glorious body. He was burning up. He should at least take his jacket off but there was no time. He had been patient enough and now drove in and down onto the gasping, twisting figure beneath him, hands moving to hold Dean's hips down, spreading yet more dirt on the sweat slick body.

His breath left him as he settled, stretching out all along Dean, reaching up to hold tight to his wrists and seeing the somewhat pained expression, smiled slightly then bit gently at that corner of jaw and began to move on and in him, thankful for his extra height as he moved to capture Dean's mouth.

Dean's thighs clamped against Sam's unsure whether he was trying to still the forceful thrusting into him or encourage. As the kiss deepened, he felt his arms released as Sam leant up on bent arms, giving himself even more purchase and slowed to even deeper thrusts. Dean's arms came down once more and he held onto Sam's shoulders, fingers digging in clutching and kissed Sam as hard and savagely as he was being kissed. He would not be 'ordered' anymore and he needed to participate in this ultimately semi violent fucking.

The hands on his shoulders were painful but it just added fuel as Sam broke back from the kiss and staring into Dean's eyes, unaware of the almost venom on his own visage, rising up onto taut arms, he quickened his pace, driving in again and again, watching as Dean closed his eyes swallowing hard and turned his head away, his hands slipping down to clutch at his waist.

The tempo changed along with the atmosphere. Sam was not being 'passionate' anymore and Dean asked him to slow down, to be a little gentler but his words went unanswered. He was not enjoying it now. Sam was hurting him and he had an awful understanding that he was doing it on purpose. It was as if Sam was punishing him for something and that he did not understand at all. He hoped that this be over soon.

Sam moved again and although he slowed his assault, he seemed to gain strength and as he pushed in once more, Dean's whole body slid against the dirt, full of bit of wood and small stones. Tears were leaking from his eyes as he threw his head back, hands coming up under Sam's clothes to push at his chest.

Dean tried to push him off but Sam dropped his head, his face screwing up as he gasped out Dean's name, one hand holding him up, the other pushing between them to surround Dean's cock to squeeze and jerk him off. Sam was about to come deep inside his brother and could not leave him wanting. Not now while once more he was allowing him to take what he needed. Damn, it felt so good. Dean felt so good. He held on wanting to last as long as he could but also he needed Dean to cum with him.

Too many emotions and sensations were running through Dean. He could not get Sam off him without hitting him and even now that was not an option. He fell back trying to relax to ease all the pressures but his back arched as his hips independent of his mind pushed up into Sam's fist and he did cum and then thankfully so did Sam. He did not know which one of them sobbed out the loudest but he put a hand to his face covering it, not wanting Sam to see the despair written there.

But Sam was oblivious, lost in the final throes of his orgasm then collapsed down onto Dean's shuddering form, his hands moving around to embrace him, head on his chest as sliding from him, Sam lay exhausted, breathing rapidly with his own heartbeat drowning out the sound of the one beneath his cheek.

Sam snuggled against his older brother who unbelievably saved him so often, in so many ways. Opening his eyes, he saw the pendent and reaching slowly, held it up, playing with it as he stayed relaxed, comforted and content listening to Dean's heart once again and, smiling to himself, loved him.

Dean could not touch Sam. Arms up, one hand across his mouth, the other holding his forehead, he stared off to the side not wanting these thoughts in his head. If he moved and even looked at him he thought he would break. His legs hurt, his thighs hurt, his back hurt and more than anything, his insides hurt both physically and emotionally. His arsehole was on fire, he felt raw and torn inside but that was nothing compared to the pain in his heart right at this moment.

What could have possessed Sam to have wanted to hurt him so much? What the hell had he done to deserve to be used in such away? Sam had used him there was no doubting that. He had not given a thought as to what he might want or even if he indeed wanted at all, the way he had launched at him. Sam had just taken him. Dean continued to stare off, trying to dry his eyes out because if he did not he would cry. And they, Winchesters, did not do that. Hell, they should not be doing this. Especially not like this. A sob caught in his throat and he had to chough or choke. Then Sam lifted up and off him.

Pulling closed his jeans, Sam sat on the ground next to Dean, gazing down at him, placing his fingers in the centre of the bare chest slowly drifting them from side to side as he waited for Dean to come back to him from wherever he had gone, staring off into the distance. But he did not. Instead, Dean slowly put his hands at his sides and rolled away from him, awkwardly pulling up his pants. Sam went to help him, starting to brush off some of the dirt and bits that had attached themselves to his previously slick skin. There was a twitch and Dean stood up moving away from him mumbling something about being able to manage.

Sam stepped back and left Dean to it. It was not much of a surprise. His brother had been much the same after that first time in the bathroom, not wanting to look at him. And then again this morning until they had left the room and walked over to the diner. It was a big adjustment he supposed, having sex with your brother. He had managed it easily but then he was the instigator, he had been fantasising about it for a good few weeks now. Longer if he was really honest with himself.

He watched silently as Dean searched for, then retrieved his t-shirt from near the burnt out hole of Glummer's final resting place, shaking it out then somewhat stiffly pulling it on. He seemed to take a long time to pull out his pendent, rubbing it between his thumb and fingers before letting it drop into its accustomed place. Then Dean continued collecting and dressing in his shirt and jacket then just stood aimless not appearing to know what to do next.

Dean remained where he was, not wanting to go back to the motel but not wanting to stay here. He was conscious of Sam as he moved around behind him collecting their stuff up into the big duffle bag and throwing the cans into the hole then Dean moved off as Sam picked up the shovel and slowly, deliberately began to fill in the hole. He walked aimlessly coming to stand gazing at the ramshackle structure, the only remaining sign of all the grief of who knew how many stolen lives.

Could that be an explanation? Sam had been taken and Dean did not know what had been done to him in that dungeon and not a quarter of an hour ago he had nearly been captured again. In fact it had only been the incendiary saving him from who knew what abuse to come. He must have felt vulnerable and needed to get some power back. So had he taken it from Dean, the one that was always there ready and willing to give him what he needed. He did not know but that thought sat better with him, a hell of a lot better than Sammy wanting to hurt him, to punish him for something. Sam loved him, he knew that, but could he somehow hate him too?

"You coming or you gonna stay here all night?" Sam asked.

"Sure," he mumbled and without looking at him, still followed his brother back to the car. =====


	10. Chapter 10

Driving back Dean shifted but could not get comfortable and it did not help having Sam sat there turned to him smiling at him. He kept his face neutral. He had no idea how he was going to get past this. He would have to he knew, because damn sure he was not going to be able to leave.

The yellow eyed demon, speaking through his father, had known long before he had how much more he needed his brother than the other way around. He had always done what he thought was right, what was expected of him.

Dean had followed his dad's every wish, done as he commanded and on the very few occasions that he had rebelled, had regretted it. He had not always gotten approval in return, seldom if he truly thought about it but had craved it and still did. Dad was gone but Sammy was here and he found that, yes, he was submissive. He was subordinate to Sam. His whole being was designed to be with Sam, to protect him, make him happy. Not a new realisation by any stretch but this new development kind of meant that he was the 'bitch' no matter how many times he called his brother that. Damn.

The ride had been in silence and on entering the motel room, Dean had immediately headed into the bathroom. Sam had followed meaning to 'tend' to Dean in cleaning him up but a hand pushed him away and he found himself against a quietly shut door. This was not good. Dean had been reticent before but not this bad. Sam moved to sit on the bed and wait.

Something was wrong, putting aside all the amoral incest stuff. Something was wrong between them and he struggled to think what it could be. They had finally put down the spirit and gone on to 'celebrate'. Sam smiled in memory. Damn sight better than a few beers and a good meal. He lay back closing his eyes. The feel of that body under him, around him, responding to him. There was nothing like it. 'Don't be long Dean', he thought as he started to stir again.

Getting up, he moved to the bathroom door and knocking loudly pushed the door but it was locked. "Let me in," he called, a smile in his voice.

"No," anxious almost frightened.

He shook the handle. "Come on. Let me in. Dean? What's wrong?" getting concerned again.

A pause then, "I'm on the toilet okay? Give me a break!"

Laughing in relief, "Sorry. I'm going to get beer. You want anything else?"

"Some quiet and dignity would be nice."

"Fine. See you in a while," and laughing to himself, Sam left. That had sounded much more like the Dean he knew and loved.

He waited for the sound of the room door closing then Dean looked back up into the mirror over the sink. That's what he had actually been doing. Leaning on the sink, trying to recognise his own reflection. He sighed, finding no answers so, feeling the weight of the world bearing down on him, he stepped into the shower. =====

Dean was sat waiting for him on the far side of the bed but only briefly glanced up as Sam entered. "Right," he announced as he pulled the various contents out of the paper sack onto the table, "We have Beer. We have cookies. We have sandwiches and a bag of your favourite candy," throwing the yellow bag at him. Dean failed to catch it and let out an involuntary groan as he bent to pick it up. "You okay?" Sam asked.

"Yes," spoken quietly in return.

Sam grinned, "You want a massage?"

"No," still quiet but with conviction. Sam came over to sit on the bed next to him and Dean found himself moving away slightly, stilling the hand that was reaching for him.

"Dean? What is it?" genuinely concerned.

Dean finally looked at him, his brow wrinkling. Sam did not have a clue what he had done. It was unbelievable. How could he have used him like that and think everything was fine, that he had enjoyed it? He did not know how to react.

While sat waiting for his brother to come back, he knew he had to ask him, would need to have one of _those_ conversations that he detested. He imagined there'd be tears, Sam's not his, recriminations then truth and they would be okay. But that all hinged on Sam knowing what he had done. He had punished him under the guise of sex and that was abuse. There must be a reason but as far as he could tell he had done nothing to deserve it. It did not occur to him that Sam would not have any such right under any circumstances. "What did I do wrong?" he asked almost in a whisper.

It was Sam's turn to look puzzled. "Nothing. Why?"

"Do you hate me?"

Aghast, "How could you possibly think that? I love you. You know that."

"But do you hate me? Is there something that I've done or not done?" Dean was convinced there had to be something. Sam was not a sadist. At least that he knew of.

Sam was totally lost. "Right at this moment, I think you are the most exasperating person on the planet. But that's nothing unusual." He tried to add some levity but Dean was nodding. "Wait. I was joking. What's all this about? You hate these type of conversations." He reached out and touched Dean's face shocked at the flinch his brother failed to hide. "Dean. What is it?" alarmed.

Dean wished he had not said anything. This was acutely uncomfortable but then Sam put a hand on his leg and he shot up and away from him, putting the bed between them and yelled at him as he stood to come to him. "Stay the fuck where you are. Don't even think of touching me!"

"But Dean? Please?"

He could not get any words out so just stood shaking his head, a hand up in denial, wanting to scream at him, wanting to shake him, wanting to beat the living crap out of him for taking him somewhere he had never thought to go. Of making him feel all different kinds of wonderful then ripping it all away by hurting him so much, by using him in such a cruel and angry way. Finally he managed, "Why? Why Sam? What could I have possibly done to make you want to hurt me like that?"

"When? I'm sorry but I don't understand." Sam shook his head, he really didn't. He stood up again and moved towards the other.

"I swear if you touch me, I'll fuckin' kill you!" Dean's face as angry as his voice.

Sam retreated back but up against the wall. He doubted the statement but did not want to risk those fists clenched and held ready. He looked at his older brother seeing someone different, a sad and hurting man not his confident cocksure reliable fun loving marvellous brother. But what had he done? He waited for Dean to calm down and tell him.

'Do not do that', Dean thought. 'Do not stand there and look so damn sad. This is about me, what you did to me not what you need'. A glance was all it had taken to see his brother stood, head bowed looking dejected, looking like he needed his big brother to come and make everything alright. But it was him, Dean that needed the reassurance, the soft word and the gentle touch. Even now he longed for the feel of his brother's hands as they had been whilst touching his face that first time. But it had led to this. He could not see a way past this to get to that tenderness. He faltered and staggered to sit on the end of the bed with head in hands.

Slowly, so as not to start the anger off again, Sam moved to kneel in front of him penitent. Whatever he had done to upset Dean this much he was truly sorry for, even if he still did not know what it was. He very gently touched Dean's arms, hands running up to catch up his brother's and pull them away from his head then knelt back on his heals, holding on gently to those hands. But Dean did not look up at him. "Dean?" and waited while Dean played with the band on Sam's wrist with a thumb.

"Sammy? Why did you want to hurt me so much?" head still dropped, spoken to the floor between his feet.

"I didn't, I don't. I would never want to hurt you. How? What did I do? Do you… do you not want to 'be' with me? Have I done something terrible by wanting to make love to you?"

Dean gave a disgusted grunt finally looking at him with a sneer. "You think that's what you _do_? You think that you made _love_ to me? You _fucked_ me! You used me like a two dollar whore that you would throw away after caring nothing!" the anger came back with his accusations, his hands crushing Sam's wrists, pushing him backwards as he spat the words in his face not believing the horrified expression he saw there.

"Oh no, Dean. No, I'm so sorry you think that. I just, I just …"

"Punished me for something I don't even know I've done."

"No." Sam shook his head in denial. "I wanted you. I needed you. It feels good, _I_ feel good when I hold you, when I'm with you. You make me feel safe." It was true, he always had. But maybe Dean was not safe with him anymore. He knelt up wanting to hold his face to convince him he had never intended to hurt. Did not realise indeed that he had. He would never ever allow himself to get that immersed again. He already knew he had been slipping down a more violent path and Dean was the only thing that had anchored him, halting that slide. How could he tell him all this? Should he? Not normally because Dean hated this sort of stuff. But the way he was looking at him. It was breaking Sam's heart.

"Please believe me. It was not my intention to use you. I was caught up in it all, in you. All I ever want is you. I can't bare the thought of you leaving me, of being alone and I want you. I want all of you. I'm selfish, I want everything you are and have to give. I need you." Was he explaining this well enough? He could not find the words and stared into those beautiful clear eyes which were searching his intently. The pressure on his wrists was slowly easing and he began to well up at Dean's face as the anger left it and he began to look concerned for him.

Sam wanted to kiss him. He moved closer looking at those lips but as Dean moved back slightly, he spoke words designed to get what he wanted. He knew as he said them he had no intention of following through on them but Dean had to believe him. He looked into those green eyes, letting the moisture in his own spill as silent tears. "If the only way I can ever convince you that I will never treat you like this again is by never asking you to be with me so be it. You tell me you don't want me to and I will never touch you again." And he bit his lip holding his breath and dropping his eyes, all designed to get Dean to give into him.

He truly had not known he was being far too rough in his ardour but he was not going to be denied for it. His eyes fluttered up then quickly back down but long enough to see that Dean was weakening. He let go of one hand and, with both of his held, Dean's other hand up to his lips then rubbed his palm against his cheek and then waited once more.

"You scare me, Sammy. Sometimes I don't think I know you anymore." Dean cradled his face as Sam's hands moved to lightly touch his knees. Tilting his head up he studied his brother. He wanted to believe him but he had been so … ravenous. And if he decided he did not want Sam's touch, would Sam really leave him alone? Sam was strong, had proved it on numerous occasions but not in this maybe. He could feel his desire, it still hurt badly and maybe Sam believed what he was saying but Dean was not so sure.

He was not sure himself what he wanted. He never wanted to go through today's experience again but he choked internally at the thought of Sam never touching him again. Even now those hands, so slowly moving along his thighs, were calling to him. No, he was not just going to let this go. If he could not get it through to Sam, what's to say he would not do it again? Not take him again whenever he felt like it? Dean was scared.

He was watching Sam's lips as he was creeping closer to him. He was biting that bottom lip then let it go, his lips parting just waiting to be kissed. And as he slowly leaned into him, placing those lips on his own so lightly, Dean could not help but welcome them. This is what he wanted, had wanted that first time.

Dean wanted intimacy, tenderness, closeness. He needed to know that he was still needed because he was becoming increasingly unsure that he was, but more than anything, he needed to know that he was wanted. He had been mistaken thinking that he was getting his validation from the lust he had seen in Sam's face.

Dean needed to know that Sam wanted him and not just as something to fuck, you could get that anywhere. He needed to know that Sam wanted him, what only he could give him and when he kissed him so tenderly he knew.

The responses Dean was giving Sam were so contradictory to what he had been thinking whilst waiting for him. He knew better, he knew he should not let himself be treated like this. He was worth more than this surely? He deserved better than this. Didn't he? But this kissing was weakening his resolve. And that's what scared him.

It was working. Whatever Dean's objections, he was responding to Sam. He was kissing him back. Sam had started so delicately judging every action, every nuance in an attempt to get his brother to forget his grievance and let him have his way. He slowly deepened the kiss, kneeling up, stilling the movement of his hands not wanting to 'frighten' him off. He knew he would get what he wanted. Dean always gave into him in the end even if he did not realise it. It was a skill he had used on him for years.

Pulling back, dragging his lips off Sam's, Dean sighed deeply his eyes searching Sam's face in particular his eyes trying to ascertain what he was thinking or maybe planning. It was true when he'd said he didn't think he knew his brother anymore. He was not the only one to think that he had changed, or 'come back different' as he had put it to Bobby and he was suspicious.

People often thought of him as stupid, maybe due to his demeanour, or his apparently happy go lucky attitude or maybe from just being stood next to his brother but he wasn't and if Sam thought he could play him by giving him what he thought he wanted he was going to be sorely disappointed.

But he had obviously got one thing right. He loved the way Sam had been kissing him. It was so delicate and so affectionate both at the same time. He felt as if he could understand all that his brother was to him, what he felt Dean was to him in that contact. He sighed slumping down, his forehead coming to rest on Sam's shoulder.

Sam moved his hands up onto Dean's waist then slid across his back, slowly pulling him into a hug. He let his long fingers tease the hair at the base of his brother's skull and felt him slowly relax onto him, his face pushing into his neck. Dean's hands came up to hold onto his shoulders, holding on a little too tightly for comfort and Sam knew then that he had him. He could sense his brothers 'need' for him, no matter what he did, how far he pushed him. But Sam was not too arrogant to know that he would still have to be careful. Dean would need the correct handling but then, Sam knew how to do that. For now he just held him close.

==================== end =====================

* * *

A/N

It was on a rainy afternoon that I decided to turn Sam into a complete bastard but if I bat my eyelashes and shed a tear will you forgive me?


End file.
